


Be My Darling

by nigellecter, YouDroppedYourForgiveness



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Corrupt the Cutie, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Femme Fatale, First Meetings, First Time for Everything Fest, Fix-It, Fluff, Helping a bad guy, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Loss of Virginity, Love at First Sight, May/December Relationship, Oral Sex, Power Couple, Shit Fuck Tons of Sex, Shower Sex, Slow Build, Smut, Soul Mates/Twin Flame, Underage Drinking, Unresolved Sexual Tension, get used to it, good girl gone bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 99
Words: 170,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nigellecter/pseuds/nigellecter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouDroppedYourForgiveness/pseuds/YouDroppedYourForgiveness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A RP thread between me (nigellecter) and gabriella-ibanescu (YouDroppedYourForgiveness).<br/>We are literally writing a whole prequel just with gorgeous Nigel and Gabi (like the movie was supposed to be!)<br/>Nigel / Gabi. Errors are our own.</p><p>-DISCONTINUED-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

His hand still takes in the subtle, but perceptibly noticeable flutter of his crudely stitched up gash, fortuitously preventing him from evisceration and exsanguinating more than one third volume of his blood, requiring hospitalization. Letting himself exposed out in the open and getting his wound properly mended out of the option, incapacitated as he barely relies on any painkillers nor drugs as he had depleted his stash of coke and morphine for his recreational use, other than preserving them for such occasion as this. The ambush had been unexpected, out of the blur as he relied too much on his self-gloating egotistical confidence and overlooking at a crucial detail. 

More than a year’s budget of a small town in Romania, the smuggle itself had been a huge success. With Darko and his associates by his side, a lot of them had exceptional marksmanship as he did. With a glock pressed against the dip of his spine with his trusty and well-worn customized revolver clutched firm against his fingers, hazel orbs, as sharp as those of an eagle looking for its prey scans through the area with an unmatched perception. Not a trail amiss, he stays behind until the cargo shipment leaves with the SUV and Darko’s Mercedez. His bike situated just off the beaten path by the darkened, dead-end alleyway.

A shortened stub rolls over the gutter as his slender and muscular leg swings over to mount against his streamlined bike, he savors the lingering taste of nicotine before he tugs on the helmet. Never had he expected there had been a looming figure just behind him, with a cold blade poised against his side as layers of epidermal separates under the man’s sweeping motion. Too shocked and tensed to emit any sound, his trembling body collapses against the wall next to him, clutching his side as gushing blood, sweltering against his leather-clad form, taints the crimson, chrome-plated metal. 

All is blur when he makes to his flat and recuperates his wound. Through filmy and blank gaze and contained in an empty shell of his glory, all he hears is the same melodious tune of the low-tuned cello, immersed and plucking him out of fathomless pit of his demise. Hands of an amateur, shoddy and crude stitches still visible through the distorted edge of the discolored skin. A hand smooths over the bandage, full of pus and sweat. Tainted and soiled as his gaunt form situates in the quiet corner of the cafe. How he had missed his favorite comfort food of all. A heaping bowl of Romanian meatball soup with a generous squeeze of lemon along with strong and bitter coffee in front of him, he savors the delectable and contrasting aroma of two, waltzing in front of his nostrils before he takes a slow and rattling inhale. Every single breath reminds him about his mortality and the searing pain he had endured.  _ Just like how he’d always did. _

Then, the original composition cuts through all the bustling noise of the small group of crowds, gathered around to listen to a woman play the cello. With the late afternoon sunlight basking and heating his back as he gets caressed by the enveloping warmth, increased by the quiescent and smooth sound of the violoncello. The profile of the woman obscured by blinding light and passerby cluster, growing as the the tune reaches its climax. Heavy lashes close as his slouched form straightens, taking a long and slow sip of the coffee as he imperceptibly sighs.  _ I fucking have to talk to that girl. She saved my life.      _

___

Hands poise over strings, with a dramatic pause before they begin plucking a story from the cello’s voice. Her hands are confidant, only in this, as she commands the instrument to sing. Slender hands coax La Musica Notturna Delle Strade Di Madrid. No. 6, Op.30 by Boccherini from the long neck of her cello. The bow in her hand is moving with speed, picking up the rhythm. It is the solo half of a duet meant for two, a voice unknowingly seeking out it’s counterpart, longing for a reply.

She knew this piece by heart, just as her father taught her. Music was everything to her, and her dream was to play for an orchestra, maybe one day the Bucharest Opera House. She was determined to finish high school and make her deepest desire come true. 

Making music in front of the cafe with streaming crowds all around. She like to pretend she was seated in the first chair of an orchestra line-up. Bringing people to tears with her serenade. Everything blurred and it was just her and her instrument. All of her attention focused solely on her playing. 

Not even the hustle and bustle of Bucharest would break her concentration. She put all her energy and enthusiasm into the arrangement. Hands fly across strings plucked, The bow dancing across strings in turn, like a waltz. One leading the other following.

Just as the piece comes to an end, she slowly opens her eyes.  When noise finally hits her ears again. No longer her beautiful tune, but street sounds, and chatter of passers-by. It hits her with a shock every time. like waking from a nightmare. She lets out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, letting herself adjust back to her normal self. 

Rising her eyes at last from her instrument, she takes in her surroundings. She notices a man sitting some distance away. His eyes are only on her. She suddenly feels self aware.  _ How long had he been watching her? Why was he staring at her like that? _ She had never run into him before. She would have remembered, she would not be able to forget a face like that. He was the most beautiful man she has ever seen. 


	2. Chapter 2

The bottom of the mug empty with a ring of bitter liquid and a bit of ground coffee clinging and the soup barely touched, he savors the fragrant aroma of the meatballs and the sour lemon cutting into all the grease of the broth, hazel orbs grow diaphanous as a hand feels the gentle throb of the wound. The vibration carrying under his dark, pressed button-down, surging upward to radiate through his torso. A ring of sweat adhering the collar to the back of his neck, he feels a continuous streak of a salty fluid, cooler than normal paint a trail over the pin-up girl tattoo as his neck taut. Swallowing imperceptibly as he pushes off from the chair, with a hand poised firm, but a faint quaver as all the passerby seems to diffuse into the street.    

His visage conveys and oozes confidence as the corner of his lips curl upward and no matter how incapacitated and rendered bedridden with the scar that was supposed to send him down to his own grave, his smoldering eyes, embers burning behind them as all the world stills. The ambiance of the quaint little cafe with few tables, the mingling redolence of brewed coffee and panini machine pressing and toasting the bread, the simmering of the meatball soup which in consolidation, reminiscences him of the home he still doesn’t have. His life revolving in circles as he completely drowns himself into his work more than anything else. Romance had been such a foreign concept to be subsequent to, especially having experienced himself myriads of times. 

The upbeat and raucous music of the club drumming against the eardrums, skimpy dresses sparkling and glimmering under the illuminating neon lights, too resplendent and gaudy for his liking, but the atmosphere discharges debauchery of sex and booze, copulatory and carnal. Without any restraints to hold him against. Succumbing to raw and animalistic desires had been care-free, lack of responsibility and the string which will hold him against in the future. 

Compared to the environment so used to him that every vein and inch of skin aches to feel what it used to be perpetual delight, the suffocating and muculent air of his dank flat with his broad figure cramped into too narrow and short twin-sized bed with rusty tang of blood clinging onto him like a second layer of skin, so deeply permeated into his epidermal under the strewn of tainted sheets. He doesn’t have to see the face of an angel to register the titillating sensation of the long neck of the cello, hands elegantly plucking, the bow creating the most virtuoso undulations of well-constructed sonorousness, acting as a substitution for any potent drug or painkiller he could get his hands on.     

Matted ashen locks dances in the air as soon as he hears the bell chime, pushing the door open to lean against the rough brick wall of the cafe. Stream of crowds becomes an abstracted brushstrokes as the gloaming looms over his slouched figure. With a cigarette poised between his lips as downward gaze transfixes against the girl’s hand, desultory but intent, the smoldering fire in his hazel orbs subdue down to dulcet ebullience, akin to burnt caramel. 

“I fucking must know your name, gorgeous, be a fucking darling and do enlighten me, because you saved my life.” 

___

The air was stifling. A bead of sweat trickled down her back. Time slowed to a crawl, everything seemed to be working in slow motion. A free hand brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. She couldn’t recall how long she was sitting motionless. Red hair burned like fire under a ray of sunshine; that cast its self over the girls still form.

The aroma of food and ambiance snaps her out of her reverie. Bright grey-blue eyes followed the broad shouldered figure; the whole way across the distance between them. Her heart started thundering her her chest. Her heartbeat beating against the pulse in her neck like, butterfly wings threatening to break free of it’s chrysalis. She remains seated, rooted to the spot. Clutching the bow tightly in hand, as if it were a last life line. 

Throat working, hard to swallow. She desperately needed a drink. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. What she would give to be able to blend back into her surroundings, and fade away unnoticed. To be able to hide behind her cello. It was very intimidating the way this man looked at her. She wished she had the confidence she possessed when she play a masterpiece. 

He looked beautiful, charming, and entirely out of place in this small cafe.  _ What was someone like him doing watching her?  _ As he draw closer the first thing she noticed was his eyes _.  _ Those eyes… civilizations began and cities burned all within the depths of those hazel lanterns. 

This stranger had a swagger to him that was intoxicating. She saw he had a tattoo of a woman on the side of his neck. He had a faint sheen of sweat under the collar, that made him look unwell. but it didn’t make him any less magnificent. When he spoke it startled her.  _ Was he speaking to her? Asking her name. _

Glancing up from where she sat, craning her neck to look at him. Grey-blue eyes met those lovely hazel ones. It was like magic, a spark from a match being lit. The beginning of something exciting and new. She spoke with feigned courage. Brows furrowed in confusion at the strangers words.

“Pardon? I-I”m Gabi. Gabi Ibanescu, How did I save your life?”


	3. Chapter 3

Through the tip of the sun disappearing and as his unblinking gaze drifts off to the painted sky, golden and orange hues swirl with puffs of clouds encasing the flamboyant spread of hues. Watching the wispy puff of smoke leaving his parted mouth to become an ectoplasm, he watches the cool breeze sighing in the trees as the surge of nicotine numbs the sweeping pain. The hint of foliage through the leaves as the sweltering summer finally passes along with the crippling evisceration, which put him out of commission. 

Gentle zephyr unwound the locks of pushed back hair to cup his sharp features, a hand strokes stubble across the sharp jawline, downward to his tight dewlap. With a slow blink as the lassitude sets in, his feet planted deep inside the quagmire of torpidity. A wounded animal, still uncontrollable with his kindling rage and indistinguishable blaze pumping through his frenetically beating heart, with each breath he takes reminds him of the stretched time just above this very building. Hours stretching to days, days to months. Elongated like stretched taffy. There had been days he wished he would expire, putting everything out of its misery as his eyes rolled in torturous pain, wanting to pull out his viscera off of his body. 

Through an assemblage of all the visual and auditory sensations, the blinding light of the morning, the stench of his own blood and puss choking him from feeling the efflorescence of season passing, none other than Gabi’s talented hands imbue, cleansing him off of lethality as the vigor of the tunes affect him as an embrocation. The most caressing touch like the lush of the silk dress shirt encasing his figure. 

As pupils petrify against those grey-blue eyes encased in jet black eye shadow, containing his ignited fire within. Alabaster porcelain-white skin gently cupped by fiery red, the violoncello too enormous against her petite figure and small hands. It amazes him further that those are the ones to concoct the most grandiose and emotionally charged tune, finding its way to knock on his tightly closed window, an invisible, fortified barrier rendered useless as it crumbled against her mellifluousness. Deliquescing through the jagged cracks of his tempestuous mind. 

Hems lifting up from his clasping fingers, claws dig into his flesh as the jagged stitches, entrapped under layers of bandages. Blood and pus still seep out with each exhale, savoring the rush of nicotine as lips curl, offering a stretched hand. Her presence alone fuels gusto and vitality into him, resuscitating him out of the misery. 

“Saved me from this fucking agony. Pleasure to meet you, Gabi. I’m Nigel, Nigel Lecter.” 

___

_ I could drown in those eyes.  _ It was all she could think about. She would probably go willingly if aloud, to fall into the depths, to be swept away forever. Shaking her head to try and clear her thoughts. 

A gentle breeze offered a small reprieve from the heat of the warm sun. She stood on two feet, steadying her instrument with one hand. Carefully she placed the bow she held on her empty chair, wiping a sweaty palm on her dark sundress. Taking the offered hand, she gripped it firmly, trying not to let nervousness show. Refusing to be the proverbial deer in headlights she replied.

“It’s nice to meet you Nigel. If you don’t mind me asking, I still don’t understand how I could have possibly saved you. We’ve only just met.”

She didn’t care how blunt she was being, the girl was determined to stand her ground. The wind picked up for a split second rustling leaves and swirling around her ankles making her skirt sway. The air felt cool against her skin, and she longed to shut her kohl covered eyes, just to concentrate on the breeze.

A faint and distinct smell of cigarette smoke was carried on the wind. She clutched her cello tighter to her body; it could have almost acted as a shield. Placing a barrier between her person and the world beyond. And more specifically Nigel, who was the immediate threat.  

_ What had made this mysterious man in front of her, want to start a conversation? Was he offended with her music, she didn’t think he would be so nice, if that were the case. _ Nothing would please her further if he had enjoyed her tune. More then anything she loved sharing music with others. If it brightens someone’s day, just hearing her play, that was enough for her.

Making her father proud was the most important thing right now. she would practice until her fingers bled if she had to. Perfecting her skills, and becoming the best she could possibly be, that was what she wanted. How could she think about love, in this moment when her only lover were the melodies she plucked from the slender neck of the cello. She didn’t have time for anyone else, but she always wondered what it would be like. To find a different sort of love.


	4. Chapter 4

The unquenchable fire meeting the tempestuous sea beating with gentle yet sustainable swirls, Gabi barely seemed out of her teenage years, perhaps younger, but she seemed independent and self-determined. Just like how he had been when he was her age. Definitely taking more risks as a reckless individual took more chances. Failure didn’t let his spirits down. Having dropped out of high school and continuing his descent to building his criminal empire, the legitimate building stands tall, just like his crumbled, shattered then soldered to fortify stronger than ever.  

Glistening sweat cooling down his incandescent skin, a minute cant of his head as another hand cards through his slightly damp locks. Reciprocating the firm squeeze as a grin stretches his lips from cheek to cheek, dangling the stub as he takes the last long drag, watching the puff carried by the gentle, moist breeze as he puts it out on the ashtray. Ash scattering against his oxfords, the sheen having disappeared long ago. Her fingertips are roughened with years of practice. Knowing the virtuoso of talent which lies within those little slender fingers, he doesn’t have to ask how much she practices. On his bed, sinking in the quagmire of the lethargic languidness, his agitated mind, waves beating like angry fists upon the jagged rock formations become tranquil sea of the Amalfi coast with her impassioned tune. Both calm and fervent. 

The web of his fingers are as calloused as Gabi’s, as he lets the inside of the index finger brush over the soft palm. He would practice marksmanship skills until his hand quavered with innumerable recoils that would traverse through his slender arm. As an adolescent, as many would observe and take notes, aside from having a provocatively charming and unforgettable face, his eyes told all of his emotions, even without him going length in his seductive, husky and drawling tone. 

The butt discarded into the empty ashtray as he watches a bit of ash scatter across the table, slightly chapped lips part as he licks the bottom lip, he itches for another, but decides against it as his grinning lips turn into his characteristic smirk. If anyone had been too brusque and straightforward with him, most likely he would’ve lashed out and told them to fuck off. “How fucking rude of me, it was your music, darling. I had been bedridden in my flat for many months. Without your cello tunes, I would’ve already ended up in my fucking grave.” 

Contradictory to the hands that kill, encompassing hers as a spark of electricity travels, firing up the synapses as he lets go. “Mind if I carry the cello inside so I can properly treat you to a drink? Would fucking love to hear your tunes personally.”  _ Your composition, whatever the fuck it was alleviated the paroxysm of petrifying paralyzation. _

___

Being in proximity to Nigel was similar to being in an aura of a fireplace. It was scorching and the burning glow that radiated from those eyes could warm even the most winter chilled bones. Though he was much older then her, he was still the most stunning man ever. She could imagine that the older he got the better he would look too, just one of the lucky ones.

The way long fingers run a hand through hair, she can’t look away. She watches his every move, transfixed. You catch more flies with honey then vinegar, and he had the most cloying way of catching her. Having followed the dance of his hand to put out his cigarette, she looked back up into his face.  

Nigel’s fingers are rough against her hand. She instantly felt a kindred spirit in this man. Something she could vehemently relate to. The brush of calloused hand against her palm sends a spark of electric blaze through her, strait into her traitorous heart. Her first instinct, are a wish to pull away, and run, but underneath that. Was something else, something worse then any devil sitting on a shoulder.

His words surprised her. She didn’t know what was more thrilling the seductive slide of his voice along her spine or the idea that her music had saved this persons life.  She couldn’t help the sense of pride wash over her.  Her cello’s voice had carried out into the city beyond the little cafe, to the ears of someone who, survived solely upon hearing her serenade.

To Gabi that was music to her ears, better then any love letter, or confession to ones crush. This to her was something out of fairy tales, and she had long stopped believing in those. Her music, her playing had saved this mans life. That was something she would never forget.

It took her a second to realize he had asked to carry her instrument inside.  _ This man, with his eyes, and scars.  Sought to treat her Gabi Fucking Ibanescu to a drink? _  Wanted to hear her play farther music, a private concert just for him. She might as well have just signed her soul over to the devil. In that moment she would have done anything to stay within the charming circle of Nigel’s affection.

With a smirk of her own, and an unmistakable blush of cheek. She was feeling a sort of confidence she only possessed when her music was involved.  She looked up at Nigel, picking up her cello’s bow.

“You may carry this, while I get the cello. I don’t just let  _ anyone _ handle my instrument, and I would love a drink, I’m parched.” She looked down, feeling giddy and a sort of shyness threaten to ruin her charm.


	5. Chapter 5

Anywhere he went, he got attentions of both men and women alike. Exuding his charm and seductiveness, he had been well aware of each of his movements. Both unintentional or purposeful. It propelled and boosted his self-egotistical mannerisms; how he carried himself, his swaying hips, slender yet muscular legs confidently yet taking all of his time in the world to stride and dawdle across the threshold and always encased in form-fitting clothes which accentuated his rippling musculature underneath.

Although he had his ways of taking a delight in the debauchery at the club, engaging in casual sex and drowning himself in countless bottles of liqueur until he slipped into a spiral of oblivion inside his office. Nowhere to call home and without any responsibilities attached to him, except running the establishment with his co-partner Darko and occasionally meeting his prospect clients, who were supposed to be the most trusted, continuance partner and ultimately, killing them after stripping off of their assets. 

Like a black panther, lean and stealthy and screaming a predator without the strength of Hercules or being gigantic in its size, impassioned, blazing and contained wildfire sweeping across those hazel, whirling to burn anyone whole would be apparent if anyone looked and stared into the windows of his soul.

It wasn’t his own hand, stitched gaping and jagged edges closed, gasping like a fish out of its inhabitant, letting out blood with every straining breath of the gash that had eventually saved his life. A single reminder of his clinging life as his burden - his own treacherous body sank into the quagmire, deluge of paralyzing pain, it had seized its imminent danger - of him exsanguinating at his flat like a gutted fish, desperate to be released inside the water, but when his own equally perfidious mind wanted to end everything for all. 

A magnetized hand reaching forth the bow, it feels like an ordinary object without value nor enchantment in his grasp.  _ I wouldn’t anyone carry my fucking customized revolver with my name engraved on the grip either. _ He nods with a reciprocating smirk, taking in her blushed cheek and the contrasting action of her confidence and aplomb. With a creak of the chair as he pushes it for Gabi, he takes his time, moving in a slow motion like a snake coiling around the tree as he sits. A lukewarm, but still delectable-looking soup reflects his slightly gaunt form. Flagging for a menu, he meets her eyes as more spark of electricity flows through the very aura that surrounds them. “So what would you like to drink?”    

___

The whole time she was growing up, she did as she was told. It was just her and her father against the world. She felt like she owed it to him, to keep her temper, and attitude in check. With her mother gone, taking care of her father felt like her responsibility.

So she towed the line, got good grades, practiced her music, until she was playing in her sleep. She didn’t smoke, or drink. And she planned to not drink either until she turned the legal drinking age of eighteen.

It was only a few months away, but it seemed important to her. She wanted more then anything to make her father proud. So that meant, no hard partying.  It’s not to say that she was boring or prudish. On the contrary, she just chose to listen to her father, for now.

Standing in the café, next to this grown man, the strangest sensation washed over her; to throw caution to the wind. Throw out the rule book. This man didn’t look like he played by the rules. She was willing to bet he made up his own. If danger was personified in flesh, he might as well have been the poster-child.

Even with the red flags, and the warning signs screaming at her to run away as fast as she can. To turn around and never look back. She was drawn to Nigel like a magnet. She didn’t think she would be able to break away from his mesmeric hold on her if she tried. It was the same sort of sick thrill she got touching her hand to the glass at the zoo, face to face with a tiger. Only a thin barrier between you and your grim fate.

Turning to stare at the predator in question, she gazed at Nigel more closely. Looking at him was, almost unbearable. She felt compelled to shield her eyes, at the sight of him, as if his visage might blind, if looked upon to long. She leaned against the counter clutching her cello. Handling the instrument as if it were a child; placing it between her and her tiger. The cello was her thin barrier between the wild animal and her fate.

_ What did she want to drink? _ He had asked.  She would have liked to sound sophisticated and adult, by ordering something, an elegant lady would. Gabi was none of those things and so she stuck with what she knew.

“I’ll have a Socata, please.” The soft drink made of elderberry flowers was very nostalgic for the girl, and she didn’t give a rat’s ass if made her appear childish.


	6. Chapter 6

Club was his life. It always had been since his adolescent years. With his long hair and slender and lanky figure, he was an embodiment of chick magnet as he debauched himself upon endless supplies of drugs, booze and casual sex. No strings attached and irresponsible as he played the field. Working up the lateral hierarchy - in his mind, owning this very club had been the most covetous achievement there ever will be - as he had started from the gutter, dealing drugs from working as a bartender, breezing through the work as it was a perfect fit for his charming and gregarious personality. 

A mere drug junkie, getting by with wads of money to buy more of the angel dust to sell rolled smokes and crystallized granules to groupies that always hung around the establishment, his old habits died hard. His seductive charm and well-liked personality, even with his strings of profanities and gruff exterior, contrary to what others thought of him, he still enthralled the others with his cerebral street-smarts, although criminally inclined and having no remorse in killing people at his own leisure. 

A short handshake had confirmed more of Gabi’s intense passion towards music. Even more solidifying it as his head whirls to reply the sensuous, yet charged and vigorous tunes he listened to myriads of times. Just like him. When he had set his mind to strive for something - it would be years before he earned the title of ‘The Gutter King,’ as a formidable drug dealer and then to becoming ‘The Drug Lord of Bucharest,’ with a firm clutch of the club called “Forță Electrică.” 

There had been days when his fingers frenetically twitched, like flapping of a hummingbird’s wings, blurring to register with the naked eye. The tremulous sensation ripping through his spine like a splinting fire log. The substance owned him both in his corporeality and mentality. Surrounded by the dense fog of his mind and gradually sinking into the quagmire he himself had built over his feet. The incapacitating laceration had definitely seized his recreational use, threatening to be binged as he sought after ephemeral ecstasy than authentic one he could feel with affectation and free from its pretense. 

The green specks in his windows of the soul becoming lighter as the last trace of the late afternoon sun sweeps across his angular facade, the waiter comes towards their table as Nigel calls him over. Deciding against his usual choice of poison - hard liqueur, he flashes a curl of his lips, matching the crescent of the moon just above the horizon, peaking over the corner of the building adjacent to where they’re sitting. “I’ll have the same thing and warm this fucking soup up for me, would you? And a small bowl for darling Gabi here.” 

___

Sitting at their small table she takes care to place her cello out of the way, so it does not get bumped, touched, or accidentally knocked over.  Making sure that it was close at hand and always within eye sight.  She continued to keep the instrument between herself and this ferocious man. He reminded her of a thunderstorm, all that rolling energy scarcely being contained.

Not sure what shocked her more, the fact that he had ordered the same drink as her, or the way he bossed the waiter around.  It was entirely hypnotic and frightening. She could not stop her eyebrow from rising briefly, at his commanding tone. This marked the moment she made a mental note to try to never have that voice turned on her in anger.  

Secretly a part of her hoped, no prayed that this was a one time deal.  That he would buy them something to eat, they would talk and, that would be the end of it. He would forget all about her. She was nothing special in her mind. She had nothing to offer, besides her music. Her playing surely could not be enough to keep the interest of that beautiful man.  He would come to his senses, and see her for what she was, just an inexperienced young woman.  Surely he would want a grown woman, with their lady-like charms, and long well groomed hair.

If she was being honest with herself, which right then and there, she was. Another darker, part of her mind that kept the wild fire of her soul alive; it was barely a flickering spark. But it was that tiny unassuming tendril of flame that sought out, seeking the bright bonfire of Nigel, whose own fire burned brighter then the sun.  She felt like Icarus, she would fly to close, and her wings would melt under that heat. No one would be there to catch her when she fell. She would fall, it was inevitable.

Between school, taking care of her father, and practice. There had not been much time for love. Sure she had gone on a few dates, turned down some men, and taken part in a couple embarrassing make-out sessions in bathrooms. Nothing substantial, nothing worth remembering. Just thinking about doing anything beyond, kissing this predator, made her whole face flush at the idea. She was hoping, no such thing happen, it was bad enough that she had no experience, she did not want him to find out, she couldn’t stand the thought of him laughing at her and calling her a little girl. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind, with her last remaining determination. No this little “date” would not go any where beyond a little conversation.

“What brings a man like you, to a place like this, Nigel?” There was no way it had been her, even if her music had supposedly saved his life. It seemed to be to good to be true. She accepted her drink when it arrived, grateful to have something for a distraction, her mind was getting carried away.


	7. Chapter 7

Perceiving the care Gabi puts into her instrument, hips cant as the barrel of the engraved, customized revolver pushes down into his crack, the grip hindering his posture to slouch as another hand grasps the gold-plated surface, well-worn and polished against his fingertips. With each bloodshed he had wrought upon, fashioned like a true predator’s kill. Unreserved, quick without making too much of disarray. A single reminder and the sole possession which put an idiosyncratic definition of his personality. Of course, he was an embodiment of a natural predator, thrown into the wild at such a young age after his parents’ passing and grown in the wilderness since then. Even without the firearms he always carried, his pupils hold spellbound, fierce when it’s absolutely necessary, calm before the tempestuous sea when he wasn’t on the qui vive. 

“Certainly, Nigel. I’ll get those for you.” The waiter retreats with the untouched bowl and the menu. Roughened fingers winding around the cusp of the hammer, the revolver’s muzzle angles away from Gabi. “Don’t mind me, just uncocking the firearm, fully loaded. Wouldn’t want to cause a fucking mayhem.” 

Now his attention diverts to Gabi’s bow, still close against his arm, laying at its angle, pointing away from the small table where they’re situated. Crossing his legs against the ledge of the wide and tall window, his gaze briefly petrifies against the technicolor of cadmium reds and yellows, its flamboyant color unmatched even with the foliage of the season’s passing. A shade crawl along against the cobbled ground and against his bike, poised against the entrance off the window, he flashes a grin before he registers her words. 

“A place like this, this fucking joint has been my hangout place for quite a while. Ever since when I purchased a flat just above the cafe, fifth floor to be exact.” An idle stroke along Gabi’s bow as he feels each fiber of the horsehair. Imitating the cellist’s hold of the bow as he places his dominant hand against the frog and the leather pad cupping the stick, the wood shines with years of use and lush like silk, the grease from the hand and how well-treated the grain is confirms the tender loving care that went to the instrument, the flowing and emotionally-charged vigor and dynamism unparalleled to things he had heard from. 

“I should give this back to you, too. Considering how well you care for your instrument.” More than the echoing of the bullet and the destructiveness it causes upon his victims as the small bullet ricochets off the skull, causing a massive hemorrhage and eventually almost an instantaneous death, if his revolver had that much calamitous effect, then the music would have its restorative and healing qualities. 

The drink is not overly dulcet and it quenches his parched lips as well as the lassitude setting in due to lack of substantial food in his stomach. Feeling a trail of sweat lick along his spine, his arm begins to quiver as stomach growls almost imperceptibly as it contracts. “And another fucking good reason would be - I’m rather famished and they do have some excellent selections here. I’ll have some sweetbread and potato goulash with smoked meat.” 

___

Watching Nigel carefully, she realized two things. One, she was in way over her head.  And two, things where way worse then she had imagined. Her mouth was suddenly very dry, and no amount of Socata would make this brand of cotton mouth go away. Taking a moment to calm herself down, she spared a glance around the dining area. People chattering, sharing food. Noise floating on the wind, to reach their table. She wondered how they must look from an outside perspective.

With a start it dawned on her, that he had said that he lived just above the café. And if that were the case, then of all those times she came to practice. If he was home, he must have heard, or been able to hear her play.  _ How many times did he listen? How many days spent in his flat listening to her serenade? _

She tried to make herself small and unassuming, hunching in on herself. Right now the last thing she wanted was to draw more attention to herself.  Nothing to see here…right.  Being in a cage with the tiger was one thing, but what happens when it gets hungry.  She felt like she was in an interrogation room. He was so wholly intimidating.

That small bit of poise she’d had earlier was almost gone, she would have like to be playing her cello right now. At least then she would be confident and know all the right notes.  Nothing could stop her when she was plucking a deep resonant voice from the slender neck of her instrument.   _ Why couldn’t everything in life be so simple? _ She pushed down that nagging self-doubt and felt a sort of nerve take hold.

No she would walk away from this unscathed, she would see to it.  The tiny little spark in her soul was back, and she was not going to let this man get to her. When he offered her bow back, she straightens up in her seat, and squaring her shoulders.  “Thank you.” She made sure their hands, did not touch, and she would not meet his eyes. Those fucking eyes, wells so deep, that it would never run dry. 

She gripped the well used and cared for bow, in hand. Gently resting it across her upper thighs. Having it close by made her feel whole again. Fingers trailed across the hair, nervousness draining away.  It acted like an extension of her arm. “I am not feeling very hungry.” It wasn’t a lie.

The last thing she wanted right now was food.  If she turned the food down out right though, she didn’t think Nigel was going to take no for an answer. So she was just honest with him. She wasn’t hungry, but it wasn’t a no either.


	8. Chapter 8

Slender, but rough fingertips plucking out the bent straw as the cumbersome weight sets down upon him like a compactor crushing his ribcage, preventing his lungs from expanding properly. Just enough discomfort to feel the broad chest to solidify as it fails to explicate. With each labored breath he took, he felt closer to his own mortality, what seemed larger than life felt so vulnerable. Just like the bone would break like a twig under the crushing weight and shatter into a million pieces. A single reminder of inevitable pain and self-obliteration, just like the pitch-blackness he had been caressing as shadows crawled over his incapacitated form. The most lush and well-worn leather, his second-skin, one of the appurtenances of his clandestine activities now comes back to haunt him back as it becomes a layer of cracked surface and stinging rays, drawing crimson with each minute writhing of the body.

He relishes the silence, setting deep like the morning fog of the crisp morning, waiting until the vapors cling onto his skin as his head cants, a camouflaged predator in its observant mode. The chiming of the bell ringing merely several feet away from him becomes akin to a metronome beating. Behind all the hustle and bustle of the cafe downstairs wasn’t enough to draw out Gabi’s concerto. If he had been well just enough not to sink into the sinkhole of sepulchral yawn of his crudely stitched gash, then he would’ve been able to hum the tunes in his head. The notes had been etched in the creases of his brain, just like how he could easily predict the sealed fate of the assailant who managed to wrong him in an unthinkable level. 

Of course, he wasn’t free of self-loathing and his bouts of self-destructiveness. Perhaps it had been fortuitous that he didn’t have his usual concoction of coke and morphine. As much as he felt more and more like Zeus torturing Prometheus, he himself once had aided accomplice in transgressing by offering his services as a criminal mastermind, which advanced his own status as a formidable player in the field, solidifying his status as the force to be reckoned with. Now evicted from the circle and the facade of his club jeopardized to reveal its sinister secret, yet to be unrevealed to the public, the need to be strengthened, whatever the means it would take to achieve, becomes pivotal.  

Recalling how the rest of his body writhed as caterpillars underneath the skin struggles to tear the holes to be freed of their prison, fingers become scythes, clawing down onto the mattress and sheets already tainted by sickening dense layer of rusty tang. The danky and cramped room had been already deeply embedded with the prospect of death; the sinister dribble and his own footprint, having smeared black opal-like sheen of uncongealed stroke along the dusty hardwood floor. Now a trace of rusty flecks, dry to the touch as he had padded down the ground that breaths his fluids, those grim reminder of demise efflorescence into petals of the most ambrosial flower. Tranquil yet unpredictable like her blue-gray oculus. And with Gabi’s soulful music, impassioned and charged. Even above the grounds and having no knowledge about the musical instrument, he could draw a vivid picture of her face now that he had finally met her in person.

The performance blurs out of his perplexed view, vacillating as his state, lost in reverie as he could ever be. I need that damn fucking serenade, just for me. Plucked out of it as the rich smelling bowls of viand - the soup he had ordered before and the goulash stew along with heaping serving of sweetbread makes onto their small table. “It doesn’t mean you can’t eat anything. As much as I’m fucking starving and feeling like I could eat a damn horse - couldn’t possibly turn this generosity down, could we?”  

___

Watching the condensation on the side of her glass; it reminded her of how she felt. Droplets of water made its agonizingly slow journey down the side of her drink. It formed a tiny pool, a wet ring on the napkin it sat atop.  She imagined her drink was sweating for her, she feeling nervous. Her hand was clammy, wiping a palm on her dark sundress. Right now she was immensely grateful for the tights she wore underneath. She didn’t feel so exposed, and frankly she hadn’t dressed to impress. She rarely ever did, so the fact that she now found herself on a date, sent her mind on a tail spin.

If you could call this a date, it was very impromptu, and had blind-sided her. She certainly hadn’t seen it coming, and now all she could think about was her looks. She normally was not overly self-conscious of her looks. Frankly on most days she didn’t give flying fuck. All that really mattered to her was her music. Only now, she found herself wondering whether she looked ok. People are usually their own worst critic, and now she couldn’t help wondering. _ What if her hair was to short, her make-up to dark, or her dress too foolish? _ She bit her lower lip, trying to stop herself from having a mini freak out. No she wouldn’t do this to herself, over some guy. There was nothing wrong with her appearance.  _  If he didn’t like how she looked he wouldn’t be sitting here right? _

_ Was this a date? _ She didn’t care if it was a date, but it felt like a date, thought she hadn’t been on a great deal of them. She wouldn’t over it think it, no point. This would be whatever it will, and that would be that, simple. Something told her in the back of her mind, that things wouldn’t be that simple. She chose to ignore it, for now. For once she wanted to throw caution to the wind and just live a little. Her whole life she had played the good little girl, and did what she was she was told. The spark inside her, the one that told her to take a chance, flared to life.

As she had predicted there would be no arguing about the food.  She didn’t want to be rude, and figured there would be no harm partaking. While they waited for the rest of the food to arrive, she swirled her soup around with her spoon. “I suppose having a little wouldn’t hurt.” She commented sipping it carefully from the utensil.  It tasted really good, and she found she could probably eat after all. She wasn’t going to admit that to him though.

Trying to glance at Nigel side-long while he wasn’t looking at her was damn near impossible. The heat of his stare sent goose bumps down her arms. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, and found herself wondering how old he was. Also what was the story behind the tattoo on his neck. She had a hundred questions. Sadly she couldn’t seem to bring herself to ask any of them. On closer inspection, she noticed that his pallor look as if it were a bit off. Eyes narrowed in her examination, a bit concerned.  She remembered the sheen of sweat on his neck when they first started talking.  Not able to keep the question on her lips she asked.  “Are you well? You look a little…” she trailed off not sure how to finish that train of thought.  _ Was this what he meant by saving his life? _


	9. Chapter 9

Mouth immediately watering as he takes in the deep rich brown of the sweetbread, risen and baked to perfection as the steam rises off from the surface. The thin yet chewy potato noodles with generous heap of chunks of meat surrounding the broth full of flavor. The dish itself is an embodiment of him in a dish. Rustic, earthy, robust yet crude, but most of all, it is a single reminder of home which had been stripped away from him as the feel of nostalgia surges like a dazzling halo of the fading afternoon sun. a fossilized and foggy reminder of his childhood gone in a haste, stripped of a chance to fully relish the perks of irresponsibility and spontaneity as a kid and experiencing the particularity of what the world has to offer him at the age gap. 

Feeling like a desperate hitchhiker, except he knew the  _ one and only _ one who would be deemed to take him to the place ethereal and non-imaginary. His figurative gesture had proven that he would be more than satisfactory to relinquish the control now. Returning the bow to the its proper place, to whom and where it belongs. The customized revolver affiliated with all the annihilation he wrought to himself and upon others for now. As more shadow crawls into the cafe, adverse affect takes over his weakened body - he could literally hear the blood pump out and the veins flutter like hummingbird’s flapping wings.  

An impromptu date about to go soured by the gape becomes akin to a fish’s gill gasping for water, he makes a futile attempt to extinguish the surging wildfire which starts to burn from his guts, radiating against his spine. Salty sweat intensifies the blazing pain which sweeps through, scorched asphalt of the incandescent summer’s day emitting the heatwave as his view begins to grow blurry. Biting the bullet to ponder as his teeth pushes against his lower lip. _ I don’t fucking want to call this - whatever this is, off. I’ve blown many fortuitous chances off, letting them slide as I saw fit, but not this.  _ He doesn’t even care if what he’d ask would be way off base for the first encounter. No fucking dice as it’d go spoiled. 

His mind whirls to recall the very thing he didn’t want his consciousness to pluck it deep from the recess of his mind - when he had made a useless attempt to reach for the very same revolver as fingers tapped across the dusted hardwood floor as an arm limply fell down the steel-framed bed, brows pinched as he had been forced to turn his body wounded side down. The onslaught of salty sweat drenching his tanned form does nothing to allay his desperate state, but he rallies, because ending this misery would be better than trying to alleviate this unbearably torturing pain without any substantial means to continue to live. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bat a thousand and felt like Werther, who couldn’t even kill himself instantaneously. 

“It’d be a bitter pill to swallow and I won’t fucking take no for the answer.. But would you mind playing that cello up at my flat? I am feeling rather off my feet at the moment.” A barely unnoticeable scowl as his form slouches to the side, leaning against the backrest with his palm pressing against the dark shirt, which comes back damp with a faint layer of blood and sweat. “And I’d have to get this food to go.” Fingers curled inward in a weak fist, words barely become a whisper as another hand clutches around the grip of the handgun.  

___

Not really expecting a straight answer from Nigel she was surprised when he said anything on the matter at all.  Her drink rose to her lips, needing something to keep her hands busy.  When he mentioned going up to his flat to play just for him, she nearly spewed her drink down the front of herself. Choking briefly and clapping a hand over her mouth she abruptly looked at him, like really looked at him. If it weren’t for the first part where he said he wouldn’t take no for an answer, it would have been almost endearing in a romantic sort of way.  “You are serious aren’t you?”

He didn’t look well, and he was starting to get worse, if she didn’t know any better.  Not having a gauge to go by; what he normally looked like. She could make an educated guess, and say that he, right now, in this moment looked like shit.  He was probably getting a fever too, but she couldn’t be sure. She did not want to start asking him a ton of questions about how he felt. She knew his type, and was positive he would not be happy about that. The best thing she could do right now was, go with him and make sure he didn’t kick the bucket on her.

Clearing her throat, still recovering from her sudden surprised choking fit.   She blinked letting his words flow into her mind. He wanted her to play just for him, and her playing had saved his life.  It was repeating on a loop stuck in her head.  Her mind almost flat lined at the part where it would mean him and her, alone in his flat. She tried to skip over all that and focus on the immediate problem at hand. Her brows snapped into a furrow, when his hand which had been pressed to his side, came away with blood.  She only aloud herself to inwardly groan a fraction of a second, before pitching herself into action.  This day just kept getting crazier. And she was most definitely in over her head.

“What the shit, you’re bleeding!”  Stating the obvious wasn’t helping, but that was the first thing that came out of her mouth. The fact that Nigel was bleeding, and not in a hospital meant one thing.  He would be too stubborn to let himself be taken to one. So she would have to do her best to usher him up to his flat with out drawing attention to themselves.  No if he was not in a hospital there was a reason, she didn’t know the reason, and frankly she didn’t want to know. The less she knew the better, but she wasn’t just gonna let him bleed out and die. Because he wasn’t in the right physical shape to be taking care of himself.  That much was clear; she would worry about the rest later. Right now she let her autopilot take over; years of taking care of her father had prepared her for anything.  

Her mind was racing, and her heart hammered in her chest while they waited. The waiter was supposed to pack the food to go. She sat nervously fidgeting with the bow that lay across her lap. She didn’t know what to say. If she started talking she would probably freak out, so she kept silent for now. Mind wandering she mentally took stock. She thought there had to be pain killers, or some sort of fever reducer in her bag. Turning slightly in her chair she started fishing around in her bag for the bottle she was looking for. Finding it, she opened it the container that read, Acetaminophen, generic, but it would have to do. “Here take these, it’ll help for a little while.” She slid two large white pills to him. She was about to ask if he was on any drugs, but decided against it.


	10. Chapter 10

Fingers clenched around the brim as the droplets slowly descend, beginning their hellishly slow trip around the heat of his fingers and the clammy palm as the generated incineration literally melts the ice cubes inside with the intense heat traversing through the Socata. No amount of icy drink will decimate the towering heat, growing impatient and depleted as a crease between the bridge of his nose, scarred by a constant fight intensifies. “Of course, I’m not fucking joking. I already told you that your music saved my life.” A languid pull of his lips, forming a faint smirk as he registers Gabi’s reaction. “I know it’s an unlikely disposition.” Parting his hand from the half-empty tall glass as he futilely makes an attempt to hand her the unused napkin, the forced expression quickly diminishes as the same hand quickly draws back to leverage his slumped over form. The fabric pressing firmly against his side, oozing crimson and each fiber seeping with more of the sickening color.   

Minutes seemed to stretch into hours as the second hand of the clock endlessly rotates inside his head as it gradually becomes muddy. This is the last fucking thing he had imagined the late afternoon closing in an unexpected denouement. A heavy roll of his eyes as he blinks, his sigh so weary that his abdomen deflates, sending sudden deluge of blood to his heart, rapidly hammering against his ribcage. “Shush, goddamnit, Gabi. Don’t fucking shout, not here.” Pyrexia sets in as he grows more restless, his stance noticeably droops as what it seemed like an inextinguishable embers gradually die down as his view recedes. 

Perhaps he’d been too impatient, more likely, careless but without recourse like a snake who had to hibernate through the frigid winter acting out in danger of a devastating and imminent earthquake to be frozen rock solid in a blizzard. If it’s a lose-lose situation such as this, then he would, without a doubt and hesitation, choose the former. It would be better to meet his untimely, but expected demise out in the field where he belongs, then stuck inside the confinement of his gloomy flat. At least he’d heard the divertimento had kept his company, liberating from the unfathomable misery of his abysmal severity of his injury. 

Mind whirls to relive the grueling excursion he had taken not too long ago, which feels closer to ages ago in his stretched perception. The descent from his flat on the fifth floor to the lobby of a fucking walk-up building. Each step sending a fluttering flap of hummingbird’s wings, a single, inexorable reminder of the clinging life. HIs blessed yet damned life which had been so persistent, bound and determined to proceed with great length.   

Canting his hips as they push further against the backrest, the movement strained and awkward, arachnids crawl and prick against the darkened and bruised skin, livid with color as each perforation gasps on life of its own. Watching the waiter bring carefully packed, doggy bag full of the viand in time as he audibly swallows the pills, nodding instead of saying ‘thank you’ aloud. Tipping his head to take a long gulp of the remaining drink, he flashes a reassuring grin as a palm decisively presses against the edge of the table, leaving an imprint of himself. He grows more hesitant on the issue of his revolver, as maintaining his so-called dignity and conscience is more at stake here. “Do grab my precious handgun for me, would you?”  

___

Gabi heaves a sigh of relief when the dogie bags finally arrive. To her that is like the gates opening at the start of a race. She moves casually, but with purpose. The not so subtle reminder, to not talk so loud; via Nigel was keeping her in line. She picked up her things, and put the bottle of pain killers away.  Then looping the long strap of her mini messenger bag over her shoulder, she moved to stand up. Her cello bow still lying across her lap, she gently set it on the table. Her finger trailed along the stick lovingly; a sort of sadness enveloped her at having to set the bow down.

Her eyes kept darting to the ever increasing, noticeable spread of blood on the fabric of his shirt.  _ Fucking hell, just perfect. _  It wasn’t an excessive amount of blood yet, but they were NOT going to wait around to find out if it turned out to be. The record of inward groaning she would do today seemed like a growing list. When Nigel asked her to take his gun for him, she blanked out for a moment.  The blue screen of death, equivalent on a computer.  _ Was he seriously asking her? To take his handgun, what was the world coming to? _

She stared down at the lowered hand, holding the gun, almost out of sight. Her mouth went dry instantly. Her experience with guns, happen to be less than her run-ins with boys. Which was none what so ever. She could feel the panic rising in her throat, but she stamped it down right away.  Now was not the time, there was to much to do, not a good place for that. Later when she was all alone she would freak out. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, to keep from flipping out on this guy. He was going to be the cause of a lot of problems. Call it a hunch, but it was just a feeling she had.  She would be in so much trouble if her father found out. There would be no amount of Hail Mary’s to make up for this, to keep her from getting in trouble.

Worry ate at her like crows picking at the remains of the dead.  Gingerly she took the handgun. It was every ounce of will power she possessed, to not hold it like a dirty object. In her mind she wanted to hold it arm straight out in front, elbow locked, gripping it with only her thumb and forefinger. Something akin to a used tissue, or worse.  That is certainly not what she did though. She took it grasping firmly in hand. Allowing herself a brief glance at the weapon before swiftly tucked it into her small bag. It was a lot heavier than it looked and that surprised her the most. The weight of it was some what reassuring. It was probably a good thing she was the one carrying the handgun now.  If he had dropped it in his weaken state, she could just picture the fall out, in her mind with perfect clarity.

Nigel did not seem the type of person who liked being parted from his gun. The fact that he was allowing her to hang on to it said a lot. He seemed to be placing a great deal of trust in her.  That spark of wild fire in her soul, fed off of that idea. It made her want to show him she was someone to trust, someone to fall back on.  She understood him in many ways, an odd sort of unspoken acknowledgment.  As if their souls were having conversations separate from their bodies and minds. She recognized what it meant to him to have to let someone else carry his weapon.  She would feel the same if it were her and her cello.  So in a gesture of good will, the girl offered him something in return. “Can you carry my bow for me?  I’ll have to carry my cello and the food.  I don’t want to drop it.”  It was a minor thing, but it was a sort of even trade.  The bow was feather light, and it would be easy for him to handle. Both the gun and the bow acted as a part of them, an extension of their limbs. It seemed only fair, and it was, she hoped something he would understand. “Come on, we should get you upstairs.”


	11. Chapter 11

More than his spoken words, it is his own blatant admission which shocks him even further.  _ Would he ever have an associate of his hold the most treasured possession of his? No fucking one had held it, his identification. _ The definition of who he was, his name etched across the curve of the grip where the web of his thumb and the most soft flesh inside his palm would encase around. Even with years of use, keeping him company for more than twenty years of his life and relinquishing the control over and he’s letting a relative stranger, to hold his gun for him. Of course, he doesn’t doubt one bit that the pointed muzzle would turn against him to cause more wreckage on his body. The concern oozing out of her gray-blue pupils and the gesticulation of handing him a fever reducer had been more than a solid proof, but his faltering hold on his corporeality deceives him as all the muscles tense like a tight coil on contrary to what his mind is telling him to do. _ If a man is destined to drown, he will drown even in a spoonful of water, but not fucking today. _

Silently thanking he had been wearing a dark-colored fabric and the amount still scarce, possibly diluted by a dispersed sheen of sweat. Transfixed on her face as her orbs dart around his gun, laying heavy against the penumbra of the tarpaulin of the cafe, providing shade as glowing light from the lamp on the bricked surface waver and spread as the light diffuses against the glass. His reflection undulating like an ectoplasm of the smoke he craves so much. The evanescent, yet the scent imbued to his own natural scent he hadn’t had a leisure to make the grade. His mind already been taken there in a haste, he could already concoct a picture of his dimmed flat, permeated with a dense layer of wispy smoke, spreading noxious fumes like visibility zero-zero of dense quagmire. 

Perhaps it was his own insecurity, or better, suspicion gnawing his innards from inside out as starved rats savored their own feasts. The amount of perspiration increasing as the color drains out of him like a faded and threadbare t-shirt. Veins bulge on his forehead as his teeth clenches, pressing downward as he muffles the groan from slipping out. A sign of vulnerability and weakness he doesn’t want to admit and exhibit. How he fucking coveted to lift that firearm with his impeccable precision, physically vigorous enough to deal with the distinctive recoil of the gun without letting his body disturbed. Unsteady arm would pull back, stretching the crude stitches to either tear them off or have more blood and pus taint his already gnarled skin, looking like a dead caterpillar than anything else.      

His shoulders droop, but his still soulful and fiery hazel locked against the deep immeasurable depth of her gray-blue, a hand reaches out as the intensity of his eyes takes down few notches, appreciating the gesture as if Gabi had read his mind. It’s not a tit for tat per say, but feels like they’re having a silent conversation, another language just expressed between them as arms vocalize to let out their phonetics. Lips curl into a gentle curve as an arm stretches to grab hold of the frog and the carbon fiber of the handle, a bit of resin smearing onto his fingertips as they glide against the bow hair. If motions could be carried in this dynamic and kindling way, then this fateful night would prove something else entirely. “Of course darling. Not a problem.” With a faint scowl pinching his brows, with a hand poised firmly to curve around his side and another holding the bow like he would his gun, exuding confidence and respectfulness.  

Gabi’s last words etches like his name on the grip of the gun. Don’t want to drop it. I won’t fucking drop it. “It’s on fifth floor of a walk-up.” He states, flatly as an audible sigh contracts his chest. If the descent downstairs had been the most herculean task he had faced since recuperating enough, this one, he must admit, will definitely go against the grain - but still, if he had weighted the pros and cons of this particular encounter, then he would’ve done it no matter what the circumstances were. At least the rhythmic clicking of his oxfords, striding in even steps, as well as the tintinnabulation of the bell above his head switches him to an on mode, he gingerly holds the bow close to his heart, as if it had been his talisman. 

___

The air was alight with anticipation. She did not know what to expect upstairs, if they managed to make it there.  She was trying to imagine how he made it down all of those stairs in the first place. If he was in much pain, it couldn’t have been easy. She could tell he was in a lot more pain than he was showing. Stubborn through and through, she had to smirk at that, but only when his back was turned. The way he carried her bow with such respect and attention as he would his gun, it confirmed her theory. Her gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed, or maybe it was subconscious. Either way she was in too deep now, a minuscule smile curved at the corner of her lips from his reply. She didn’t want to admit she liked the way he called her ‘darling’ but her body betrayed her, she couldn’t keep the faint blush off her face.

Closing her eyes for a mere few seconds, she allowed the world around her fade just once more. There was no music to pull her in this time, but the steady beating of her heart. In her mind it was as if she were closing the book on the final page, before opening a new one to the sequel. It was the start of something new. Of what she couldn’t tell, but this certainly marked the beginning of something. It was getting late the sun hadn’t set yet, but it would be in a couple hours. Birds were chirping passionately in their last scramble at foraging, prior to when they would rush off to their nests for the night. The irony there did not elude her, but she was going to ignore it.

One good thing about being a good girl was that her father trusted her. And with that trust, it meant if she stayed out later then normal, he didn’t freak out. He knew she wasn’t getting up anything bad, and she would make her excuses later. Nothing awful had happen yet, so she hadn’t started to worry.  Besides Nigel was barely steady on his feet now, she didn’t think he would be too much trouble in his damaged state. If she had a narrator for her life, he would probably be screaming NAIVE! At her right now, but since she had his gun and he was already bleeding what’s the worst that could happen?

She set her mind to the grueling task at hand. She figured the best course of action would be to follow him close behind. She would try her best not to hover over him like a nervous prom date. “I’ll follow you.” she mumbled. Now was the balancing act, her cello case clutched in one hand and a bag of left-over’s in the other. She would have offered him a hand, but she had her arms full already. Before they set out, she had diligently, with much love and care packed away her instrument.  If he got worse on their way up, she will have to set something down to stabilize him. The thought of having to touch him sent mini shocks through her body. She didn’t want to, but if she had to, she would do it with the most clinical manner she could muster. She promised herself she wouldn’t get attached, she couldn’t. He wasn’t some wild wounded animal she could take home; she had to keep reminding herself that.There wasn’t much to say so she kept quiet, she found a sort of inner peace just being there with him.

If necessary he could always take a break on the steps, but she didn’t think he would do it. He most certainly would have his manly ego at stake. Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing she just had a silly idea running a muck around her head. Would he be playing his injury off cause he was one of those heap-big tough guy types? Probably… It made her want to roll her eyes, and to think he was at the mercy of some random young woman. _  How did we get here? _ She would be asking herself that question for a very long time.  _ No! _ she had to remind herself once again, she would not get attached. If her arms weren’t full she would be rubbing her temples right now about now.


	12. Chapter 12

As if he’d taken a shower recently and beads of water still clinging onto every inch of skin as they glisten. Sweat profusely drips from his hairline and cusps around his angular features, intensifying the heat of the burning coals as the flame sparks. Jaws set as he prepares the more grueling climb ahead - The descend had rattled his bones to the core. Like a building near a demolition, shaking him through the foundation on the verge of collapsing. Gnarled veins, pallid and rough, protrudes further as the fingers clench in a weak fist. Nigel Lecter, the criminal mastermind who built everything from the ground up, wasn’t going to be discouraged by a mere fucking flight of stairs. He had always visualized how his establishment, his empire would look like - as a hiker never looks up at the summit he’s about to conquer, he would focus his everything on what he has to face at the moment.  

The sky splatters with flamboyant pigments of yellows and reds, the undulating waves swirling across the expansiveness as penumbra of his own broad and tall figure cast down, crawling across the front porch as hazel orbs glint behind the veiled locks of his ashen curtain. He would’ve dreaded the excursion alone, but now the last thing he wants to exemplify is to show the chink in his fortified armor, the amorous disposition he has towards the cell-playing, the girl who is keen, self-determined yet sympathetic and empathetic enough to understand the unspoken language he had percolated at the cafe.  

Perhaps Gabi was letting him walk on his own pace - however slow that might be and let his egotistical conscience in check. The things that he had never appreciated, as he had never perceived at the level of awareness, such as breathing, walking and appreciating the genuine company of others. The very aura around him had grown different. Exuding fluids, showing feebleness and admitting that this couldn’t be done alone. The minutest stretch of the suture a single and punch-in-his-gut reminder of how delicate and emasculated his body really was. All those daredevil years of self-abuse and destructive days, rotted with endless supply of coke and liqueur. 

Heart palpitating frenetically with each long stride, the Acetaminophen pills’ effect had been reduced to a bare minimum. What it feels like third or fourth floor only registers to second when he abruptly stops, bow still clutched firmly as an index finger caresses across the smooth curve where ebony wood and carbon fiber meets - the frog and tip of the bow. The friction of damp fabric of the shirt against the raised and deformed suture presses and irritates the sensitive skin. It’s where he has to step with his left foot where he feels the unmistakable and indisputable oozing of the blood now soaking his dark trousers. 

Fingers unfastening the shirt as he alternates the bow between his hands, not daring to drop nor put it on the stairs even for a minute, the rope-like abomination which had slovenly bedraggled him like a paralyzed rat about to be devoured by a rattlesnake appears before him, the livid discoloration spreading almost like a necrosis. The hypodermic fang quickly ejecting the venom in a fraction of a second, just like how he had been reduced to a curling mess, encircling in his own puddle of glistening black opal under the moonlight. Taking an audible and shaky sigh as sleeves, slapped on his skin, finally frees from him to be tied around his middle, just above his navel to prevent the stitches to gape like a desperate flapping of the gill. He rallies on and forges ahead, feeling the gravity of his own weight as no hand ever props against the railing, until he finally takes them and reaches to the dark metal door, with gold letters staring him out. 502A. 

___

Gabi had made it a goal in life a long time ago to never be tortured. Climbing five flights of stairs, with a man who was barely able to stay on his feet, came pretty damn close. She was a laid-back person, very patient and often times kept a cool head even in dire straits.  Watching Nigel struggle up this god awful long trek was almost unbearable.  With every step she could see the pain in the lines of his face. Each step was one she was starting to feel in her bones. After a while she could feel her body give an uncontrollable shiver that shook her down to her toes. It felt like a dog shaking after getting a bath. Like a ripple on the surface of a pool. Cause and effect, the chaos theory also known as the butterfly effect. It has been said that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world. What happens to one is displayed on the skin of another.

They did not speak, it didn’t seem necessary.  What were words, when the pain they now shared did all of the talking. Every slight pause on the stair, every time he looked like he might falter, she nearly stopped breathing. Once she thought she would swallow her heart, when it leap in her throat. How was it that even though they had just met, she felt like she had known him forever. And that this great effort seemed to be more then just helping a random stranger.  Part of it had to be that she was already feeling protective of this man. She wanted, no needed to help him. If her playing had saved his life, then she would see it through to the end. That meant she needed to make sure he wasn’t on the verge of dying again. She gnawed nervously on her lip. Already she had made up her mind, to come back the next day to check on him. It would be the least she could do. More inward groaning, so much she had lost count.

Fuck! What in the seven hell’s was she doing. This was escalating so quickly into dangerous territory. _ Why was she such a sucker?  _ She was doing everything she had promised herself she wouldn’t do. Her palms were sweaty, and she had to pause for a moment to get a better grip on her cello case. She wiped her hand on her dark sundress and when she looked up Nigel was fumbling with the fastenings of his shirt. Panic rose in her instantly.  _ What was he doing!? Why was he fucking taking off his shirt? _ When she saw the jagged mark on his side, she sucked in air, whatever she had been about to say died with the breath she expelled from her lungs. It looked painful, and had started bleeding even more. Inwardly she was panicking she would have waved her arms frantically, but she knew that wouldn’t help. Besides acting like an idiot right now would be the worst thing she could do. Just FUCK!

With out a word she watched him tie his shirt around his middle to stop the bleeding and she had to bite her lower lip. She wanted to bang her head on the wall. She couldn’t stop the thoughts running circles in her head. The need to touch him was pulling at her again. He was a magnet and it was every inch of will power she had not to lay her hand on his arm. It was on a painful level, the desire to reassure him with a small touch, even if it were just on the elbow. Some part of her brain was praying to every god known to man for having her hands full. He was so beautiful, even right now in this moment. And she could kick herself for even thinking of such things right now.

When they finally reached the flat they sought, she let out an audible sigh. She had never been so glad to see a door in her entire life. The idea of kissing the damn door crossed her mind briefly. She memorized the number on the door. 502A, coming back the next day was already marked on the calendar of her brain. She really needed to stop wanting to take care of wounded animals. It would be her down fall. He was not a stray cat, he was the tiger at the zoo, he would eat her raw. She would die waving a bag of kitty treats at him, and probably do so happily.  


	13. Chapter 13

Comparing these flights of stairs which would’ve barely taken him five minutes in his usual long skipping strides, slender and muscular legs easily propelling himself up like a black panther clawing through the trees, marking his territory. Never the one to give in, obstinate as ever, the motion itself the embodiment of how he despised to get help until it becomes absolutely necessary. Until his abused body disintegrated until everything became too insufferable. Like burnt piece of parchment, the ashes scattering and breeze sighing through the air. The temptation settles, like ground coffee too stubborn to be coalesced into the liquid itself. Even when he pushes past the dark steel door to be enveloped in his familiar gloomy prospect of his dank flat, he wouldn’t even dare to let his guard - more so wide-awake and keeping an alert mind. 

The exchanged breaths, sharing them through the very air permeated with the growing scents of his sweat and blood, intensifying as another kiss with mortality grows imminent. As if a straw had been jabbed to his side, creating an alluvium of purulence and blood to be contained inside the constricting fabric, acting as an effective makeshift tourniquet of some sorts. Maybe it was another one of their unspoken exchange of conversation through infinitesimal gestures, but knowing Gabi could easily get ahead of him and deciding against to stay behind him to make sure he would be standing tall. More than the admission which he cannot repress anymore, like an exothermic snake has to act out on his instincts, he isn’t going to sit around when the ground tumults to cause a disorder. It would rather freeze to death than be placed in a conundrum. He would always choose to be astir, on the move than sitting dormant. 

His heart still frantically hammers as his view begins to be obscured. Skin growing more pallid and clammy to the touch as a hand pressures over the shirt, he feels a cool gushing liquid lick swiftly across the deep divot of his spine, all the way down to the curve of his hips. Taking a sigh of relief as his shoulders droop, a hand with the bow leveraging himself as a hollow crease forms with a faint curve of his lips. another hand fumbles for his keys, jangling inside his fingers along with auto remote key for his bike and a rundown car of his which he had meant to sell, but he hadn’t. 

Walking inside his own realm, where no one else had come through feels like an abrupt invasion, but more than he cares to admit, he would need aid through what it will be a prolonged recovery. The first thing he registers is how stale-smelling and unventilated the living room had been. All the whiskey bottles, strewn all over the entrance, bone-dry, with his heavy boots, caked with mud and dusty all over. He could literally make out each and every dust particles floating through the air, along with the myriads of stubs scattered throughout the coffee table inside disposable take-out cups, tapped ash all over the floor and rug, obscuring the furniture’s true color as piles of unwashed laundry along with accustomed sheets, rusty and dried with his blood. Piled take-out containers stacked over on the side of the couch.  _ Thank fuck it’s not summer. _ He mutters himself, another unavoidable admittance which he bitterly takes a note - he needs a fucking housekeeper.   

A ground-rattling sigh lifts his chest as a reflective chuckle lifts his lips once again. “Don’t mind the fucking mess and fuss over. As you could obviously speculate, I haven’t been too cognizant all this time.” Grabbing a soiled rag by the kitchenette counter, he wipes across his forehead and chest rather carelessly, then unknots the sleeves of the shirt as he inspects the stitches, the touch feather light as he runs a finger across the loose stitches. A hiss as he disapprovingly shakes his head, the thought briefly crosses his mind -  _ he should’ve have done a better job at closing up the skin _ , but his slapdash and spur-of-the moment solution had been what saved him from his untimely demise. Fingers reaching for the brown bag full of food, the bit of warmth spreading across his body becomes akin to a wildfire as the spark of electricity generates from his skin as they contact Gabi’s hand. Tongue licking the inside of his teeth as downward gaze lifts to petrify against hers, he abruptly turns to retrieve the first aid kit. “Would you be a darling and help me restitch this fucking thing up?” 

___

Hovering again just out of reach, she waited. She waited while he fumbled with his keys, and waited for him to unlock the door. She thought she might scream by the time the door swung open. Finally at last, they had made it to their final destination. A wave of relief washed over her, nothing had happen on the long journey up the stair, but it didn’t mean they were out of the clear just yet.  She closed the door behind her, using her hip to swing it shut, it clicked with a light snap. It was as if someone was snapping their fingers, at the beginning of a show or a song, the lights come up, and the scene starts, the stage is set, the orchestra is in their seats all waiting for the maestros’ instructions.

Eyes swept around the room quickly, she took everything thing in, and cataloged it away, her mind working like a filing system. Her subconscious screamed typical, but she also knew that in his state, he would have been utterly helpless. There was no way he would be cleaning with a gaping wound in his side. She wondered how long he had stayed up here, before venturing out of his flat to come down stairs. The air was tinged with the faint smell of blood, and it sent goose bumps down her arms. It had that same bone chilling smell of a snake den. Of death that lingered on the air just out of sight, waiting to come knocking on your door. An involuntary shutter ran down her body. She did not want to think about how close he might have come to dying in here alone. She turned back to face her feeble companion and a hand connected with the one that held the bag of left over food. Things from that moment were like a blur, a leap forward in time, everything happening so fast.

It took her a split second to register that his hand was touching hers. There was a steady rhythm pulse beating back against the skin where his hand met her hand. The heat pouring off him could melt polar icecaps. It was intense and she stared at their hands way to long. She could have sworn that their blood would boil in their veins if one of them didn’t break away. He pulled the brown bag from her grasp, and with it, his hand. She bit down on her tongue to keep from making any strange inarticulate words. She swallowed hard, it made her throat hurt. After a few minutes she realized he had spoken words, like actual words to her. He wanted her to help fix the stitches in his side. Which meant she would have to touch him. Fucking fuck… “O-Ok, I will do what I can.” She watched him retrieve the first aid kit, and her mind started working in overdrive. Her body turned back into autopilot mode. She would do what needed to be done, nothing to worry about. This would be just like anything else, and in her head she would treat it like learning a new and difficult musical arrangement.  

Stiffly she set her cello case down out of the way some where safe. She walked over and held out a slender hand, asking for the bow to her instrument back. She let her face be utterly impassive. This was just a clinical situation. “I’ll take that back now, and put it in the case with my cello.” She didn’t want it to get in the way. Frankly, secretly she just wanted something familiar to touch for a few seconds, before she had to do something stressful. It would give her a little bit of extra courage that she needed right now. The sight of blood didn’t bother her. She wasn’t squeamish, but she didn’t like to cause other people pain. There was no point trying to fool herself into thinking that, this wasn’t going to hurt like a bitch. Frowning she closed her eyes for a second and breathed in deep, then exhaled through her nose. “Forgive me now, for what I am about to do to you. You should probably lie down.” Oh the irony of those words. Who knew that the first time she would be saying anything like that it would be to repair stitches and not something sexual. 


	14. Chapter 14

So caught up in the electrifying touch earlier, the current still lingers along his skin as static electricity sparks from the fingertips. As he corners the door towards the bedroom, the stench of rusty blood assaults his nostrils even more so. He had been too oblivious to the putrid odoriferous scent all this time. He could still make out the outline of his body, the excretion still visible along with rumpled piles of blood-drenched sheets by foot of the steel-framed, twin-sized bed, too cramped and insufficient for his broad and tall figure. Not a single trace of illumination penetrating through heavily shut window and the draped curtain, yellowed and discolored with age. 

A noticeable hiss slips out as his chest flutters, palpitating more as more crimson paints the side red, tinged along with the besmirched skin, tainting the immaculately unpolluted water with impure adulteration of noxious substances. Without the distinguishable sign, this could be the entrance to hell. The limbo as he had called it. He had dipped his feet in it, almost sank into the sinkhole of his own fluids, the mattress still reeks of his own redolence of annihilation. Now plucked out of the apocalyptic whirl of the pitch-black circumvolution, the only beneficial and constructive to assuage the pain and fortifying the vigor inside him had been the visualization of the bow dancing across the surface of the strings, the movement of the hardened fingers roughened with years of devoted practice and the poignant scene of whoever this was - now he had connected the pivotal piece of the information he sought desperately, risking his exsanguination as it had been an imperative. 

The first aid kit looks nothing like what the general public would see in the convenience store or one of those mega marts. For an individual not associated with medical fields, the apparatus is one of the most valuable appurtenances of all besides from his character-defining customized revolver. Stocked with supplies which would mend almost all the injuries, he had failed to stock the most necessary injections of all - anesthetic, antiseptic and painkillers.  

“I’m sure your hands...”  _ The one which holds the healing powers. _ “Will be more apt to stitch me up better than this fucking abomination.” A gaze full of contempt, he still would credit himself, but it wasn’t one of his best realizations ever.  _ The abomination which prolonged his life until now along with your ‘personal’ serenade _ . In his daydream of vivid visualization, it had been as good as a life-saving divertimento, irreplaceable, serving more as a fuel than any saline ringer solution or a blood transfusion. “Of course.” Stretching his arm as if he had been holding the most sacred object, he gingerly hands her the bow as his hazel orbs lit up, despite the lassitude setting in like a heavy fog. “Put that bow inside, we could get this fucking thing be done and over with on the bed.” Even with the presentiment of the gut-wrenching pain which will embody him in whole, he grows lighthearted than ever as he leaves Gabi in blissful solitude along with her instrument to lay down on the very mattress he had been inflicted pain after undulating pain. She will be literally the benevolent lifesaver, both literally and figuratively, his Nightingale.   

___

Slowly her nose adjusted to the smell. It was one of those odors that no matter how many times you get a whiff of, you never forget it.  Rust and iron, a subtle reminder of life and death, a faint sweetness rode in the air underneath it all. Possibly the beginning of infection, she would have to make sure he kept it clean. She looked at her would-be patient and couldn’t help the worried look that crossed her features.  _ What was she going to do with this enigma of a man?  _ Honestly, she didn’t want an answer for that right now. Probably one of those questions best left unanswered.

She glanced through the first aid kit, impressed. Everything she would need could be found here. For the most part she had no idea what she was doing. She was resourceful and could make an educated guess as to what needed to be done.  At one point she had fancied herself to become a nurse, but music was far too important to her.  That would be something for another life, she figured. She had once watched a documentary on being stranded in the wilderness. At one point they showed how to stitch up minor cuts and wounds. And well… she was only fixing stitches not the full blow thing. When Nigel mentioned about her hands, she paused to look down at them. They didn’t shake; she had to much practice holding her arms aloft for that. “We’ll see about that.” She muttered under her breath.

When he handed her bow back, she held it in her hands like it was a holy relic. Admittedly she didn’t want to put it down, and the idea made her cringe. It was her rock, and the object that kept her grounded. She was stalling the inevitable. Slow as honey she walked back over to her cello case; she had wandered over picked through the maze of mess on the floor. Crouching down she unsnapped the case lifting the lid. Grudgingly she put the bow in its place along side her instrument. With a sad look, she closed the case again. Standing now she watched him lie down on the bed, this sent her into action. It was now do or die. No more messing around, she would get this over with.

“So… no anesthetic.” She commented causally, she was back at the first aid kid taking stock of what she would need for the job.  Collecting things, she pulled out medical grade thread, a curved needle. She stared at the sinister looking spike for a few seconds; she scrunched up her nose at it. Noting also there was no antiseptic either.  Looking around she needed something to set all this stuff on. She walked over to the small kitchen area, and opened one of the cabinets. Finding one of the few remaining clean plates she put her supplies on it. “Perfect…” She figured one way she could help was to keep talking to him. Maybe the distraction would help, and she knew it worked on little kids when they needed to get shots. It was worth a try.  

Carrying her make swift tray back to the first aid kit, she got out scissors, a shit ton of alcohol wipes, and some rubber gloves. “Do you happen to have any ice, in that fridge?” She inclined her head toward the appliance in question. It would be really helpful if he did. While she waited for him to reply she gathered more resources. Sterile gauze, fuck it she might not need that but whatever. A few cotton balls, some more cotton balls for good measure. She chewed on her bottom lip, setting the tray-plate down. Digging through her bag again, she found the bottle of pain killers and got out two more. “Take these chasers, it can’t hurt.” Gingerly she handed them to Nigel. She did her best not to touch him while she was at it. Fuck it, she was getting a headache, and so she swallowed down two of her own. Maybe it would numb some of the shared pain they seemed to be experiencing. 


	15. Chapter 15

Time seems to warp as he sinks into the pleasant quagmire of the bed. Aside from the ominous stench which seems to fade into the background now, all misrepresents to turn into a disguise. Something he had experienced a long time. The recollection of it, even with him realizing that his conscious mind had plucked it out of his pensive. The deepest memory which had repressed for all these years. The first thing his body registered after his parents’ untimely and abrupt death had been how broken down and sick as a dog he had been all the time. The Lecter castle grounds enveloped under the whirling snowdrifts, cocooned under layers of duvet, surrounded by a puddle of his tears as an eight-year-old. No amount of variegation of sunshine basking the lithe and his already pale skin pallor, worse than the cadaverous corpse tainting the unperturbed snow. Except, the dense, sinister blood spreading like a contagion upon the sparkling snow crystals would be etched eternally into his brain. 

No amount of tears would ameliorate the vicissitudes of his life. With no figure to serve as his guidance and navigate his own path, his flamboyant and tenacious personality, no person, not even his twin could have his iron-willed, independent spirit in check. Everything else matters none when it comes to fulfilling his own achievements and following his own conscience - he will hurt and kill whoever gets in his way of climbing up the lateral hierarchy which exists but function on his own twisted brand of moral compass. Never physically hurt women, don’t double-cross his associates, at least be unfaithful and disloyal to them in their face. Perhaps that’s why this backstab, all the other debilitating injuries he had sustained over the course of years didn’t really bother him all that much - he could simply remove those individuals without him having to hold grudges.  

Toeing off the oxfords and socks with a bit of a strain as each wrong movement would either tear the loose suture off from the distorted skin or have his face turn even more so deathly with each contortion of his expression - drawing down the brows in a displease. With Gabi’s reluctant acceptance of hers being better than his own, barely adequate, mediocre crudeness of jagged impressions, he lets his interest shown via a small twitch of his lips and a cock of his head. The first instinct of the others who would ever get close to him enough to see the gnarled and jagged lines of deformed flesh, the first instinct would be to ask where he had gotten the stabbing from. Naturally acting on to take the caretaker’s role, he silently appreciates the neutral sentiment of it.  _ Nonjudgmental and showing a commitment to what seems the most imminent. _ Fingers, still a sheen of blood and sweat covering his palm, clenches around the rumpled and solidified sheets, the texture more akin to dried-up and cracked calfskin bedraggled in rain. 

“Local anesthetic would’ve been a fucking miracle right now.” No, actually, probably not. It would definitely numb the pain and he would barely feel anything. He was already experiencing infliction, more than enough so to have others pass out with too much exertion. Silently thanking he has such high tolerance for pain as it had accompanied him all this while, he would choose to rather feel each and every surge of pain. Like an unfortunate case of a man declared dead at the scene of an accident, only to be feeling each minute and infinitesimal cut of the scalpel and each crack of the ribcage, until his still working heart, held out against his will, will eventually halt all the functions of his body. In this case, he would commit himself to go through that, if that’d be what it takes for him to be fully recuperated. 

Fingertips sleepwalk through the raised edges, inspecting from the initial point where the long gash begins, where it had been gaping frenetically along with his palpitating heartbeat. Just above the navel, where the diagonal evisceration begins to just under his left armpit. Using one of the metal bars on the head of the bed as a leverage, he propels himself upward. “There should be fucking two full cubes of them.” A fluttering sigh slips as teeth clenches together, lids immediately shutting as the knot of the suture pulls tight against his flesh, tearing the stitches as each unwinding movement has his body to unconsciously quaver like a twig on the oak tree under a rush of gust. Another rumbling sigh after, his upturned brow registers Gabi entering the snake den, corrupted with the prospect of death. “Thanks, darling.” Stretching out a red-tinged hand and swallowing the pills dry, lips catch the faint tang of the blood and saltiness of the sweat. Ignoring her taking her own share of pills behind heavily shutting lids, balls of his feet presses against the foot of the bed as his legs bend. “Quicker the better, let’s get this fucking thing over with.”    

___

Nodding her head she put the bottle of pain killers away. She chucked the container back into her bag, while simultaneously slinging the strap over her shoulder. Having removed her messenger bag she laid it down near the bed. Minutely she was aware that the gun was still in her bag. By placing it near the bed he would be able to reach it if he wished to do so. She didn’t think he would shoot her for doing something she asked him too, but she still had to wonder. “Right, let’s get this over with.” She moved back toward her faux tray and woefully looked at the stuff piled on it.

First she went to wash her hands; she quickly did so, and dried her hands on her sun dress’s skirt.  “The ice should take the place, in theory of the local anesthetic… A little bit any ways.” She hadn’t found a clean towel any where so she got out a bunch of large gauze pads from the first aid kit.  Going over to the fridge she opened the freezer and pulled out an ice cube tray and cracked it to place a small number of cubes on a large gauze pad she held. Twisting it at the ends she closed the soft delicate cloth around the ice.  That finished she pulled on rubber gloves; she had to stop herself from snapping them like some evil mad scientist.

At last she carried her tray over to where Nigel was on the bed. Her pulse was threatening to climb out of the vein in her neck. Her heart beat louder then the hoof beats of a line of horses racing down a track. She felt another involuntary shiver rock her body. Those tremors were such an odd occurrence, she couldn’t explain it. The last thing she needed right now was to drop her supplies, she hoped he hadn’t noticed. Noticing that more stitches had come undone, she scolded him like a child. “You are making it worse, stay still please.”  Wagging her finger seemed like over kill so she didn’t do it.

Clearing her throat she knelt down on the floor by the edge of the bed where her ‘patient’ was. He didn’t look so hot, but then again she couldn’t blame him.  _ How had he managed to get this kind of injury? _ Asking was out of the question, she did not want to know, more things better left unsaid. The less she knew the better; she kept telling herself over and over. It was going to be her new mantra. “You really should be more careful.” Licking a dry lip she examined the wound with a critical eye.  She did not look up from her task, she did not want to see him watching her or looking at her for that matter. If she gazed into those hazel eyes, she wouldn’t be able to finish the job.

First she laid out what she needed, she unpacked a large bandage so she wouldn’t have to fumble around for it.  Lucky for her she had found a lighter in the other room on a coffee table. “I have to sterilize the needle with heat, and alcohol wipes.” Explaining what she was going to do before she did seem logical as a topic, and it was some what calming.  Flicking the lighter on she held the needle underneath the flame until it was starting to glow orange.  She was careful not to burn her fingers. Afterwards she wiped down the needle and thread with a few wipes.  She was killing time so that the painkillers had time to set it. Taking the ice she had wrapped in its gauze prison she let her hand hover over the wound. “This is… going to be very cold.” 


	16. Chapter 16

Always more familiar with the saline ringer’s solution or one of those beveled edged needles probing the protruding veins on the crook of his elbow to clear the drug from his system than the measly, generic tablets or pills in the first aid kit, he wonders if more pills would be more or less effective against his already built-up tolerance. Although he hadn’t taken anything prior his incapacitating injury, the prior and constant abuse of his body would be still present. Perhaps his own treacherous body had been contumacious all along - he knows exactly what kind of pain he has coming. The degree of infliction definitely less severe. Until he could feel the hinges of the jaws set and teeth clenching and grinding against his own skin until he bled from the inside of his cheeks as his chucked off sleeves came all wet with amalgamation of stringy saliva and blood, warm blood curving around his torso to caress and immerse him along with each minute movement of the epidermal layer, as if they had life of their own. The gush of crimson spurting like beating waves, surges of angry fists silencing him to scream internally. 

While Gabi had been scampering and swiftly moving about to retrieve more necessary items, then he feels the stiffen muscles loosen up, holding his damaged pretentiousness and ego up by the thread stretched tight, on the verge of breaking and recoil to him him back in his face. “If that’d be the case, then getting me a bottle of fucking whiskey would be much more effective than using that as a fucking anesthetic.” Finding his body molded against the quick-setting cement with not an inch of room to move in, the teeth presses down against his lips as more undulating pain surges through his side, fingers on the rumpled sheet tighten as his arm tremors, each vein throbbing as the body beginning to lose heat. The fever finally setting in as he profusely sweats from his hairline, or, it could be the less than savory apprehension of the searing pain which is going to accompany with such unmanly sounds of whimpering and groans.  _ Where was goddamn angel dust when he needed some so fucking desperately? _ Orbs bleary against the bleak and ugly flower patterned wallpaper opposite him, he could feel the a bit of bubbling blood exude out as he watches Gabi, turning his head as the sight of rubber gloves greet him.  

Huffing as he exhales a long sigh, a roll of his eyes followed by a bit of annoyed and frustrated grunt as all he can do to stay conscious and still as the shadow crawls along the foot of the bed, contouring along with the shape of his bent knees as his hips cant. “I haven’t fucking moved that much, the stitches might have been already loose by the time I laid down.” Feigning a sullen look as he raises a brow at the statement, sensing a bit of hesitation there.  _ Perhaps she’s curious, better not say it out loud just now. _ Still relative stranger, about to tend his most profession-defining, even more so than the customized revolver itself.  _ It is, after all, a cut-throat business. No pun intended. _ “I usually am. Not leaving a fucking stone left unturned.” Instead of providing a suitable explanation, he merely nods and turns over to stare at her hands moving to complete the undertaking, then upwards at the concentrated gaze of her eyes. In his usual fake ineffable insouciance, he accepts the state of his body, soldering against the invisible mold he had created to not move around too much once the threading begins. 

Balls of feet firmly pressed against the cold metal bars, his body feels as if his own two-timing body plays a constant tug-of-war between chill and scorching heat. Unblinking hazel transfixed against the glowing orange, then hearing the fizz as the sharp point comes to cool down, he wonders what would’ve happened if he had taken all the precautions such as that. He didn’t have a conundrum - as it had been a life or death, hospital or home-care situation. His sole desideratum had been making the club alive with minimal loss of blood where he wouldn’t be requiring a transfusion. “Do what you think is right.” Instead of offering the comment like he would usually do, the initial thought which crosses his mind had been ‘as if I didn’t fucking know.’ 

As non-sanctimonious and bleeding-heart she had been for him since the first flicker of their exchanged souls, lips twist with warmhearted lightheartedness as a faint smirk dimples his cheek. Fingers clasped around her wrist holding the gauze, he feels the first droplet glide over the gaping wound and a guttural exhale slips out under his pursed lips. As soon as he brings the gauze over the side, just above his navel where the stitches take a curve along with the taut line of the muscles. Lids briefly fluttering, he lets out a serpentine hiss as the cold moisture breaches into the separated skin, parted like his lips. “Apparently not that cold enough.” Lean stomach contracts and he feels a few trails of water curve around his side, all the way to wet the pivot of his hipbone. 

___

Ignoring his comment about the whiskey she had thought maybe he was joking. Maybe he wasn’t, we shall see.  She concentrated on her work with all the same determined confidence she used when she play her cello. Still poised over the cut she felt and saw his hand connect with her wrist. She almost jumped at the touch.   Allowing him to guide her hand, it was like taking the first steps, at something new. That touch was hotter than the scorching sun, she wasn’t sure if he was burning up, or just the mere touch of his hand was doing things to her body that she didn’t want it to. It was probably a little bit of both; she could not let herself think about how much of the latter it most likely was. At least this time their touch didn’t make her brain flat line. She had much more important things to do right now.

Carefully with a light stroke she prod at the laceration with the gauze covered ice.  She uses the same feather light caress she would her instrument.  As the ice melts the moist gauze cleans away the blood. For a brief moment she spares a glance to his face, but does not look him in the eye.  She settles on his lips, and realizes she was staring. Shit! She wanted to gauge how his reactions are in terms of pain, and whether it was bothering him. She couldn’t tell, he seemed to be tolerating her touch so she continued with her work. At last she thought it was as clean enough and as numb as it would get. “I think that should do it.”  

Tearing her eyes away from his mouth had been a feat, those lips were so lovely, and he was so god damn beautiful. She found herself gritting her teeth to keep from looking back at him. How could someone so rugged and handsome, also be so painfully beautiful at the same time. More inward groaning, she really needed to stop getting side tracked. How was she supposed to get anything done, when he was the distraction?  Now came the part where she had to assess the damage. She checked how many of the stitches had come undone and how deep the wound was still, and how much of it was healing. She used more alcohol wipes on the outside of the injury.  _  How the fuck had he managed to do this himself? _ “I’m impressed you stitched yourself up, I think I would have fainted.” She was being honest, she couldn’t fathom it.

Taking a deep breath she gathered the needle. The best way to fix this would be to do the medical style stitches. Considering the type of wound it was, and with him moving around. She did not want to risk having him pop more of the stitches. Brow furrowed in concentration, she ran the needle from the outside, through the entire layer of skin. Crossing with curved needle back over the other side, across the laceration, bottom to top and out.  She narrowed her eyes at a treacherous lock of hair that fell over her line of sight. Shaking her head to try and move said lock of hair did not bode well. So she tried her best to ignore it.  She was tying each single stitch off with a simple square knot. This was to insure that if one stitch came undone, it did not compromise the rest of the sutures.

Her stitches were not on par with anything a doctor or nurse would be able to do. But at least the concept was there and it would probably work, because it had the benefit of being a strong suture type. With a sigh she mistakenly looked back to Nigel’s face, what she saw was grim pain, and stubbornness. There was a fine layer of moisture on her upper lip, was sweating nervously. She was probably going to regret this but; she got up from her position, needing to stretch her legs. Sweeping a glance around the room, she looked for an unopened bottle of whiskey. Finding one nestled in with a bunch of empty ones; she picked it up and opened it. She had to clear her head. The image of him laying on the bed, staring at her, and the wound it was burning holes in the floor of her mind. She took a quick swig of the liquor and coughed. Yep, she regretted it… but at least now she wasn’t thinking about how fucked up this was. Taking the bottle back over to the bed she handed the whiskey to her patient. “I think you need this more than I do.” 


	17. Chapter 17

The soothing sensation, the most gentle caress along the jagged surface of the obtrusive ruggedness and knurled edges, feels like the embrocation of the aloe vera over the bronzed skin. Skin akin to splintered rice paddies due to a long drought, the cool gauze serves as the much sought after downpour which quenches the parchedness. The laceration seems to scintillate akin to soldered wire as the separated skin fluctuates between scalding heat of the asphalt as the heatwave swirls across the surface. He could definitely register the same degree of control, the exuding confidence when Gabi held the bow. The floating touch along the epidermal serves as the most potent elixir in his conscious, although the surge of sweltering heat ingrains his response to more translated into a mirage of oasis in an expanse of vast terrain, full of desolation and hopelessness. 

Even before he thinks of letting go of the fingers gently wound around Gabi’s wrist, the hand had already slithered off as he allows her to take charge - the puddle presses against the curve of his hips, the thin fabric of his trousers not helping at all to absorb all the liquid. feeling the continuous stream gather just beneath the dimple of his spine. Arching like a bow as his hips tilt to press against the fleeting moisture, the saturated spatter means nothing and renders futile against the incinerating molten lava that seems to burn him whole from inside out. Perhaps he was more sicker than he cares to admit, or it could be the girl’s presence. For all his quick-witted mind takes in, Gabi is nothing like all the deceptively naive girls he had seen in his establishment. Older men their easy prey for them to seduce and charm their way out as means provided. 

Controlling his escalating and drumming of his heartbeat as his lean stomach contracts, he tries his absolute best to relax the shoulder muscles. The faint scent of blood assaults his nostrils with each of his slow inhale, along with his heavy musk of the sweat as he whiffs. Except his own erratically audible breaths and the rustle of his body as the chilled nippiness pricks his skin from time to time, his face remains rather passive with his collected stoicism. Hazel still penetrative and soulful against her face.  

Chapped lips parted, eyes still spellbound against her movements, he blinks once as lassitude slowly drowns him in. “It was either not waking up forever or having dragging my fucking body at snail’s pace to preserve myself.” His usual low and husky voice is assertive even when he is demonstrating himself at his most unguarded state. “As far-fetched it sounds, I’m sure you’ve done the same to bite the fucking bullet instead.” An appreciative upturn of his lips as his fingers saunter across the sheets, gingerly placing it on his trembling skin.

Jaws set as the curved needle perforates the skin, nails dig into his flesh to form crescents as he exhales out a fluttering sigh. The band of sheen broadens around his neck and spreads to the Y shape of his collarbones. Hazel still intense against her face and feeling the repetitive movement of the suture shutting the gaping skin to close tightly, each minute pull of the skin sends his form to writhe as his toes curl, pressing firmly against the metal bars. The agitated green specks of the hazel about to shoot spears across her face as he senses movement -  _ ah, finally retrieving that damned fucking bottle of whiskey _ . “A bit strong, isn’t it? I gathered you weren’t much of a drinker.” His appearance reflects that of his caretaker - clammy skin, dripping wet with sweat as sun-kissed skin glistens with the twilight contouring the outline of the bed and his debilitated form. Without even thinking, his arm stretches to grab onto the bottleneck like the clutch he had been holding against his own mortality, but before he takes the copious amount of liqueur in his system, there’s one thing he desperately needs -  _ a fucking kiss.  _

Pushing that stubborn lock away from Gabi’s face as a thumb glides over the broad stroke of moisture clinging above her upper lip, calloused fingers circle around the back of her neck as he brings her face closer. His stomach contracts as the skin mirrors the undulating wave of the tranquil sea. “I think I fucking need this more than anything else.” Lips surge to eagerly grope hers, more than a soft peck, which deepens a bit more as the tip of his nose brushes against hers. Curious tilt of his head as the other arm draws a L shape to prop him up, he could hear the frenetic percussion hammer against his eardrum. 

__

If you had asked Gabi what she would be doing right now, just five hours ago, she would have said many things. She could be at home getting dinner ready. Doing homework, or even talking to one of her friends on the phone. She could list a bunch of different things she could have been doing right this minute, but instead she was here. This was by and far the last thing she had ever expected to be doing on a Thursday night. The idea that she had school tomorrow was such a foreign concept right now. Gabi Ibanescu got good grades, was in the school band, and was lead chair of the cello section. That was her simple life before today. Now she felt like she was in some crazy action movie, where she got shanghaied into helping some random person. Only to find out they are really hurt, and no one else is available to assist them. In fact that is exactly what happened.

_ What did the future hold for her?  _ She didn’t think anything would come of this, he needed her help, and that was it. Plain and simple, she would do what needed to be done, and then she would be on her way.  _ She would check up on him tomorrow and then what? What did she think would happen after that? _ She didn’t even know him. People who get this fucked up hurt, and don’t go to a hospital are dangerous people. What her father would think to see her now, helping some guy she didn’t even know, alone in his flat. Granted she wasn’t stupid. If he had been well, and not hurt, she would have never agreed to come up here alone. But then again, he did say he would not take no for an answer, she didn’t think that would have changed any if he wasn’t injured.

As soon as Nigel had taken the bottle of whiskey she finally was felt she able to talk again. The burn in her throat from the liquor was harsh and made her want to keep coughing. “You are right, I don’t really drink, but I needed that.” A faint grin spread across her features for a few minutes. With a sigh she knelt down to finish the last few sutures.  She was going back into her focused mode, she used for cello playing. The pesky lock of hair was back to obscuring the line of her sight, but nothing was going to deter her from finishing the situation now.  It was getting late, and she might not have time to finish adjusting his stitches and play the cello for him.  _ What the fuck, why had she agreed to this? _ She was supposed to be playing the cello, but instead she was patching up some random stranger she just met a little while ago.

Just as she was finishing the last stitch, a square knot in its wake. Nigel shifted on the bed. She didn’t bother to look up, she was about to scold him again. But he carefully brushed the errant lock of hair from her sight for her. His thumb brushed across her upper lip, that small caress made her hands still and stop mid motion. Frozen in place she isn’t even sure what is happening.  _ Why was he touching her like that?  _ When he spoke about needing something more, she was about to ask what, but he pulled her close. She hadn’t enough time to react or resist, she was pulled along as if on a leash. Her mind went completely blank. When their lips touched, and her reaction was automatic. She didn’t think she would have ever been able to say no to him. No matter the circumstance. The out come would most likely always have been the same, every time.

Just like magnets they will always be pulled together. The moment they touched the electric current was back. Like plugging an appliance into a wall, and the lights come on instantly. Her skin was on fire, from the blush and from the brush of his lips. When his nose lightly bumped into hers she shivered, and her body was now suddenly covered in goose bumps. The press of their lips drove her crazy. She wanted to run her hands across his body, but she couldn’t do anything. Her mind was screaming in frustration. Her hands were covered in bloody gloves, and she didn’t want to hurt him. Right then she wanted nothing more than to let this man consume her whole. She didn’t know how long they had kissed, it felt like an eternity. Reluctantly she pulled away first, still holding her hands up and away from both of their bodies. Her neck was aching from the awkward position she had held it in for too long. Her voice was hoarse, but she managed. “I-I think I should probably go… it’s getting late, and I have school tomorrow.” She looked down at the bed; her heart was still hammering against her rib cage.


	18. Chapter 18

Most people probably would have blacked out by now with intense exertion and the searing pain which makes the back of his eyes water and desperately claw the back of the orbs where he can’t scratch. It literally feels like a rat is gnawing through the back of the skull, the indescribable pain could be only compared to giving birth or helplessly petrified while he feels each minute slash from the cold metal of the blade. No emollient would help to soothe the prickling skin as the each ember engulfs the nerves. More than the fissure of the terra firma as the upheaval of earthquake shakes the core and shifts the faults, if he had been without Gabi to making the solo excursion up to the fifth floor, he would’ve met a relatively gruesome fate. Who knows, he would’ve collapsed against the cold concrete of the staircase and slowly lose consciousness. The long endeavor to reach that delusional journey’s end, which translates to his resting place. Perhaps he would’ve not been motivated and driven enough to embark on the arduous trip which had depleted more than enough of his fuel. 

Either way, it would’ve been Catch-22 situation as he would’ve surely torn the stitches. Instead of the vital fluid escaping him in continuous streams to take him to the unfathomable oblivion, the red-tinged color presses against the closed-up laceration, kindled ember blazing as the sparks press close towards the edge of the skin. He doesn’t have to visualize hard to see it. He had been the authority figure to be reckoned with, carving his name as a notorious criminal mastermind after going through rough times, his only point of destination the light at the end of the tunnel as he saw an opportunity to egg the oblivious owner on. 

Like a hooked fish’s sealed fate as the snare seems to constrict him further, making him to huff out more in a gasp.  _ Just a bit more.  _ Lids closed like a shutter, thick lashes bat against his deeply sunken sockets and fingers and electric currents fires up between the webs of his fingers and finally onto her alabaster skin. As if her contact had been the only source which could regenerate the drained energy, which gives him wings. Without being too desperate and letting more passion exude against the sweltering skin, the lava bubbles over the surface as the imminent volcano erupts over in the form of more perspiration coating his skin. Hesitantly letting go of Gabi first as he feels her withdraw, fingertips glide over her blushing cheeks, complexion tinted with rosy pink from her concentration as well as the thrill of the lock. Strung up like the bow ready to discharge a projectile, his body outcries, but he wants this to last infinitely. 

Contrast to his lips upturned in a smirk, stretching from cheek to cheek turning deceivingly simper, the corner of his eyes crease as the bridge of his nose pinches together, a minute twitch of his cheek as he audibly exhales. “Of course.” A languish sigh rattles his chest as he sinks back into the custom mold of his bed, his gaze still firmly locked against Gabi’s silhouette as the penumbra creeps over the ground tainted with the prospect of death. In his psyche, the cadence with Gabi in the past several hours had been efflorescent, coming to close in an ephemeral bliss. 

“I still need your personal serenade, will you bring the cello and play it for me?”  _ Tomorrow _ . He lacks the eloquence to persuade for her to come back tomorrow, but if their unspoken communication earlier had truly affected both of them, then she would be back. The soaring anticipation and the adrenaline from the lip-lock sending him over the edge, his mind whirls, although his body screams otherwise. Orbs growing diaphanous as hands encase his dry face and down his stubble along the angular jawline, fingers card through his ashen locks as he gives them a gentle tug. “The last thing before you go, could you bring me the soup and give me two more of those pills?”   

___

Before she gets up to go, she cleans the now repaired laceration. She uses more alcohol wipes on it, and afterward, she covers it with a few large adhesive bandages. The whole time she worked with the bandage she tried not to think about their kiss.  All too aware of how painfully she is willing to fall into his arms, the greatest thing she can think to do right now is to retreat. Running away now seemed like a good idea. Clearing her throat again, she told him. “Try to keep it clean, and covered for now, and don’t go moving around much either.” She kept thinking about his words. That he still wanted to listen to her play, just for him. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be back the next day; she needed to make sure he was taking care of himself until he healed.

The idea of admitting that she had made up her mind to come back to his flat, felt like a very personal secret.  Which was silly and stupid, but right now, she felt both of those things. “I’ll change the bandages for you tomorrow.” It was the best he would get from her, as a confirmation that she would be back. There was no need to tell him that she would play for him, or that she honestly would love nothing more then to do so. It was a sort of unspoken agreement that their souls had struck as a bargain. He loved her music and she loved to play, nothing else mattered or is said on the topic. It was a mutually unspoken pact.

Standing at last, her legs were killing her from kneeling on the floor for so long.  First she took off the gloves with a snap, her hand felt covered in powder and slightly damp. Still refusing to look him in the eye, she could feel his gaze on her like a prickle of heat. It made her want to either run screaming or throw herself at him in worship.  _ How could someone make her feel so conflicted with just one look? Good lord.  _ If kissing him had been that intense, she couldn’t imagine doing anything else with him. Hell what would making out be like, she would probably implode. Or for that matter, being able to touch him while they kissed. Since she hadn’t been afforded that luxury this time, as her hands had been wearing soiled gloves at the time. What about next time? If there even was a next time, at that thought her stomach did a little flip flop.

She gathered back up the supplies she had used to patch Nigel’s wound, and put them back on her make-shift tray. She threw out anything bad, used, or dirty, along with the gloves. The rest got put away in the first aid kit, some how she didn’t think that would be the final time the kit would get used. Lastly she went to where they had abandoned the brown bag of left-over food. She took it over to the fridge and put away whatever he hadn’t immediately asked for. The soup she kept out and placed it on top of the tray. She found what looked like a clean fork, and carried it back over to the bed. “Here is the soup you asked for.” She went to her bag and picked up the discarded bottle of pain killers and fished two more out for her so called patient. Handing them over she added. “You should try to get as much rest as you can.” There was a look of concern on her face, she couldn’t help it. After he took the tray and the pills she didn’t waste anymore time to leave.

Collecting her things, she picked up her bag. And her cello case, giving the room a quick sweep, while putting the food away in the fridge she had made a mental note that he definitely would need groceries, the left-over’s would only last a day or two tops. There wasn’t much she would be able to do for him now, but tomorrow… tomorrow she would be better prepared. The need to leave grew stronger, and the more she lingered the worse it got, so she fled. As rude as it was, she didn’t even wait to say goodbye. Honestly it seemed pointless, but still… The thought or idea that she could just straight up refuse to come back crossed her mind.  Could she do it? Leave and never return, she didn’t owe him anything. Something about this whole thing scared her. It wasn’t even the fact that he was intimidating. Irony of ironies, though she was half way down the second floor stair well when she realized she still had Nigel’s gun.  “Fuck.” Since she was definitely not running all the way back upstairs, she knew she would be coming back for sure. It appears fate had made up her mind for her.


	19. Chapter 19

As the cool surface of the gauze paints broad strokes over the embroidered edge, eyelids briefly close to repeat the earlier kiss.  _ Will he do it again? Fuck yes. _ If he could replay it repeatedly, he would definitely do it over and over again. Perhaps he would even risk placing himself in more pain to deepen it if the opportunity presented. The alcohol briefly quenches the burning heat which whips across the recent stitch as the gelid feeling fleets too quickly. More quickly, the prickling pain akin to double-needle tattoo machine depositing the ink underneath the epidermal sets in and he knows that sensation will be with him until the blood coagulates inside the sealed up stitches, then his compromised body will do its best to defend him from all the complications and infections with his weakened immune system. Except the irritating sensation heightening even more as the heatwave emitting from the skin gets contained within the pocket of space under the adhesive bandages. Perhaps that damned fever will finally break and perhaps he could ignore this irritating prickle, overridden by the undulating heat which will claim his form soon. 

“I don’t think I’m in a fucking shape to move around that much anyways, but I will do my best,  _ darling _ .” His voice more croaky and accent more intensified due to acute pain, the back of his throat burns up as the stifling heat seems to coat his windpipe. Turning his head to gauge her location - he couldn’t see her eyes, but knew enough that she was still inside the dank room just off to the side, adjacent to the bed. As clammy as his skin was getting, all the pool of sweat adhering him to the sheets like his body had been sinking into a slow-plunging quagmire, he wishes to turn to the side to look at her directly in the eye. After a futile attempt as the minutest graze of his inner arm over the bandage results him to make the most unpleasant groan he had ever heard coming out of his lips, he decides against it and idly stares at the ceiling with his equally burning hazel. 

Except the stitched laceration and his forehead, everywhere else had been all drenched wet with chilled wetness. With her affirmation that she will be back tomorrow, whether or not she will play that serenade for her or not - which he firmly believes she will, as she always had been playing in front of the cafe no matter what, except in harsh elements. He doesn’t want to recall those gloomy days as deep depression set in along with the excruciating pain ripping through his side. Without the healing power of the panacea, the days had been outstretched painfully long as he grew brooding, detached from the rest of the world as opalescent hazel shot up to stare at the ceiling, daydreaming about the next kill - most likely be his assailant or some worthless impudent motherfucker who would be brash enough to piss him off. 

Feeling emaciated as all he had consumed had been the strong cup of coffee, even more bitter and almost molasses-like in its color and thickness, his body screams he could eat a horse, but it would be better if he took all the time in the world. He wasn’t going back to his profession anytime soon and even if all the simple tasks he had underestimated all this time had returned to a full capacity, he wouldn’t be deemed fit to do what he did at the establishment. At least Darko had been as obstinate and relentless as he could be. 

Pushing himself in one swift motion with the leverage of his hand, biceps tense as well as his teeth clenches, propelling as serpentine movement sends his form to rather awkwardly lean against the metal bars of the headboard. Pillow poised just under the pivot of his spine, he suavely responds, “Thank you.” If Darko or any of his associates ever saw his vulnerable form along with how he had been presenting himself in front of Gabi, then they would’ve been guffawing the whole time along - uncaring as he pushes the thought away in a puff and takes the tray along with the pills, he hears her rhythmic steps grow imperceptible as the steel door shuts. The click of the shoes growing distant. Finding the soup container still warm to touch, he takes a careful inhale, bringing the warm and savory broth over his lips, dousing his equally dry tongue from earlier. He could still taste the faint caramel taste of the whiskey on his lips as he takes a small sip. A gentle curve of his lips brightens his color-drained face.  _ Oh, she will be back.   _

_ ___ _

Placating her father had been easy.  He was a simple, cheerful man. He knew that Gabi was a good girl. Telling him that she had been practicing at the café wasn’t a lie. But then she told him she had gone to Mihaela’s place for a little bit to hang out. Victor Ibanescu had no reason what so ever not to trust his daughter. He never questioned her about where she had been and what she was doing. And as far as he knew she wasn’t lying when she told him. She felt bad deep down, having to lie to him, even if it was a small white lie at that.  In bed that night she had texted her friend Mihaela’ and asked her if it was ok. If she had told her father she had spent some time at her house. Her friend agreed whole heartedly and then proceeded to grill Gabi about what she had really done. To her credit, she didn’t believe in kissing and telling. So she left Mihaela hanging.

Barely getting any sleep that night at all, in school she felt like a zombie. Last night she was still riding on the high and adrenaline of having done something so out of character. Not to mention that she still had a fucking handgun in her god damn messenger bag.  She did not take it to school with her. She had unceremoniously shoved it under her mattress, before she dashed out the door to leave. At school Mihaela was asking her 50 questions, and not giving up. Gabi was too tired to play any childish games. When she snapped at her friend, she said she was sorry right away. She blamed her lack of sleep; it made her cranky she told herself. Her inner voice was laughing at her, telling her it was more than that. A feeling that gave her butterflies and worried her sick, manifested in hazel eyes and a gruff personality.

The whole way home from school she was on fire, she even ran part of the way. This time she would go home first, and tell her father she would be back late. That she was going to go practice at the café, like always. Half truths, she was going to be practicing, but not at the café. An excited feeling rose in her. She collected the gun, that she had stuff under her bed and shoved it back in her bag. Being sneaky she went around the house and gathered a few things she thought she might need. Messenger bag carefully slung over the middle of her body, she gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek, and rushed out the door. All this happened before he could register the bucket and cleaning supplies she carried.

Stopping at a small corner store, she picked up a few food staples. Then she made the long trek up the five floors to where 502A sat waiting for her like an ominous energy. Juggling her cello case, a few bags of food, and a bucket full of cleaning supplies had been annoying. By the time she hit the third floor she had to take a break and shift the weight of the load around. On the fourth floor she was no longer enthusiastic as she had been at the start of her climb. Finally on the fifth floor she was having doubts, and was chewing on her bottom lip. At the floor she couldn’t even bring herself to knock or go in. She felt sick to her stomach and had no idea what waited for her on the other side.   _ Would he be mad at her for taking his gun accidentally? _

Standing in front of the door that read 502A, she was paralyzed. Something kept her from taking the last step foreword. The landing she stood on, outside the door was spinning it was like a type of vertigo. With a clatter she set everything she was carrying down. She pressed her back against the wall for stability and slid down it until she was crouched on the floor the wall to her back. Taking a couple deep breaths she was sure for a split second that she was going to hyperventilate. She stayed where she was for at least ten or fifteen minutes until at last she got to her feet.  _ Had it really taken her that long to freak out?  _ Everything that had happen, and what might happen in the future, came crashing down on her in one fell swoop. Gathering everything back up, she with her cello case in hand. She left the other stuff on the floor to see if the door was unlocked; if it was she would go in. If it was locked, she would leave. There would be no knocking, and as she twisted the door knob, she held her breath.  It wasn’t locked, so she picked up the bucket and the bags of food, and went in, shutting the door behind her. Inside the door she left her things, and supplies, to wander into the room where the wounded animal rested. “Nigel…Are you awake?” She called out, when she saw him; she realized a bit startled that she had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.


	20. Chapter 20

With the drug still coursing through the veins and still overly ecstatic from that stimulating kiss than he cares to admit, his body never lies when he confronts himself with the raw emotion. Not so serene solitude looms over with the cascade of umbra, on their hands and knees, the shape of the curved terrace projecting onto his drenched body like pincers of the scorpion, pinning him further down into the mattress. His mind akin to an endlessly stretched desert with unexpected sandstorm about to cause the maelstrom, overturning the core of his existence. Growing rapturously ravenous, despite his silent vow to slow down and savor each bite, his chin tips back until the top of his head hits the soldered protrusion of the metal, almost spatting out the broth in the process.  _ Fuck _ . Inwardly cursing strings of more fucks and profanities both in English and Romanian, he hisses like a pissed of cobra about to strike the snake handler after swallowing the smooth liquid. 

Rubbing his drenched locks, a faint and appreciative chuckle lifts the corner of his lips as another mindlessly wipes the trail of sweat over his tattoo. The owner of the cafe, Petre, who had been supposedly running the little quaint cafe for more than thirty years, a family establishment which had been continuing its legacy for more than one hundred fifty years, making the oldest cafe and most precious spot for foodies. Sagacious and silent, but adored along the neighbors of the district, he had been one of the first to recognize Nigel in his true form. Of course, his terrified and atrocious nature had been rampantly known across the city like a vile contagion, but knowing how destitute and unyielding he had been with his life and recognizing what lays beneath the vulgarity of his manner, the exquisite heart as wide and long as  _ Dambovita River _ . Of course, Petre hadn’t let his genuine emotion surge out and tell Nigel exactly what he had in his mind -  _ quit drugs, stop being so perilous with his life. _ He was actually one of the benefactors who had saved him from overdosing from speedballing. 

The citrusy broth of the  _ ciorba de perisoare _ , generously squeezed lemon still acidic against his tastebuds as he lets out a satisfactory burp, the plastic fork separates the heaping portion of meatballs, savory and flavorful, packing garlicky and peppery punch with its robustness. He could still see the chunky rice grains and ground meat, a perfect balance of fat and lean meat with the fresh breadcrumb binding the whole concoction together. Oblivious of the pitch-black murkiness sets like an everglade, without any trace of light inside his squalid flat, the empty container discards by his side as he tackles the next task with renewed enthusiasm. The full-bodied, the burn of the alcohol mellows out the pungent spiciness and kick from the red pepper flakes. The throat and chest straightly burns with the surge of ethanol, though it is never enough to assuage the increasing fever, which dampens his body even further. 

His debilitated body processes alcohol more rapid than usual, as the fever relegates the wooziness of the head. The world seems to collapse and diminish, liquefying into the blurred abstract strokes of colors as Dali’s  _ Persistence of Memory _ . As his mind seems to defy the relativity of time and space, his notion of cosmic phenomena completely collapses, the contingency of the events merely a half day ago. He had defied the concept of fairy tale-like love. The love at first sight, the comical sentiment of hopelessness. Never had he felt the will to come alive, the music, the sheerness of her personality, without being too naive.  _ Whenever he does something, he’d give his all, basically all or nothing. Can’t seem to do anything a little at a time. No matter how strung-out he gets.  _

Losing the last string of his thought along with his consciousness, he slips into an oblivion like a slowly drowning individual, the last struggle before he completely goes out like a light is registering the throng of crowds passing in a blur, his eyes petrified against Gabi’s expressive eyes, replaying the earlier event. Then it cuts all to black until her voice plucks him out of the deep sleep. Finding his spine aching with a dull heavy throb from prolonged position, the blinding lite ablaze across his bare chest, the outside cloudless with a sky dumped with unadulterated cerulean. Eyes rolling behind gingerly shut lids, he ventures a guess. Gabi would have her cello, along with some groceries, he hopes. Feigning deep sleep, it doesn’t take much effort to make it look believable. After all, his body is still dog tired and he could barely muster the strength to answer her back.  _ So he thinks.  _ Fingers still curled around the whiskey bottle, he lets go all of the muscle tension, the protruding cords of his neck becoming less visible as his head tilts away from where Gabi would see his face. Then he would surprise her out of nowhere. 

____

Light shone through one of the few windows in Nigel’s flat. If she remembered to do so, she would open all of the windows and let in some fresh air. The place certainly needed to be ventilated. The smell of old blood continued to taint the place. She had half a mind to scour the whole flat with bleach. The smell would probably kill them both, so it would not be a good idea. Baby steps, she would clean a little bit at time, and in small increments. That fact that Nigel had told her out right not to worry about the mess only made her more determined to straighten up.

When there came no reply from Nigel she assumed that he was probably sleeping. So she left him for a while. He needed all the rest he could get and if she didn’t have to wake him up she wouldn’t. She paused to stare at his beautiful features for a few seconds, and then turned around to begin her new task. Instead she put on a pair of rubber gloves. Reviewing the main room she was trying to decide on what to clean first. So she got a trash bag and went around picking up stray cigarette butts, and abandoned take out containers. The empty bottles went into a recycle bag, she had everything sorted.

After clearing away the mess she swept the whole main room, the ash on the carpet was bothering her, had he not heard of a fucking ashtray…  _ Men… seriously. _ On that note she found his lone ashtray. Emptying it out and washed it in the bucket now full of soapy water. She placed the now pristine glass ashtray in the middle of the coffee table. It was front and center so you could not fucking miss it. After she was done with that, she rolled up the rug. She swept underneath where the rug had been and took it out onto the small terrace to be shaken out. With the rug back in place, she heaved a sigh. Pleased with herself she took a short break to stand on the terrace enjoying the sun.

Break over with; she opened every window she could reach. Instantly she could tell the difference. There was a light breeze flowing through the flat now. If she was feeling adventurous she would mop tomorrow. What else had she to do, and with him laid up in bed it would pass the time. Next thing she tackled was the laundry she found lying about. The clothes went into another bag, one she marked that could be taken to a laundry mat, the blood covered sheets she threw away. A little blood was one thing and easily explained. But this was not a little blood; it looked like a god damn sacrifice had taken place. So into the trash it went… After a couple minutes though she thought better of it, and put the soiled sheets into the laundry bag. Throwing away sheet covered in so much blood might look shady.

Finished for now she put the cleaning supplies away. She would leave those and the bucket here. Shocked she realized she planned to come back again already. What the fuck was wrong with her. This wasn’t even her place, but she already felt responsible for it and its owner. Who happen to still be asleep. She had been here for over an hour making a bunch of racket and she never once heard a peep out of him. So she went to check on him, she would have to clean his bandages also, now that she thought about it. Drawing near the bed, she looked him over the long line of his body, from lowered eyelashes. He appeared so still that, panic rose in her throat.  _ What if he was dead? _ Her over active imagination ran marathon circles around her brain. Every worse case scenario she could think of popped in her head. It took her way to long to work up the courage to lean in close. Gingerly she placed two fingers on the vein in his neck, she was biting her lower lip too hard. “Please don’t be dead.”


	21. Chapter 21

The gentle breeze he didn’t even know existed caress him like the most lush silk robe he could dress himself against the bare skin. The light still too blinding and intrusive against the closed eyelids, the sensation ripples like the ebb and flow of the tidal motion, gradually invading past the immobile strands of thick lashes.  _ Okay, she’s not wearing the heels like the other day. I can register the fucking unmistakable sound of the bucket’s handle bang against the rim of the metal.  _ The harsh smell of oxidized blood slowly withdrawing along with the trace of crisp air, the dead silence kills him more than him trying to gauge where Gabi’s exact location is - he could definitely make out that she’s breathing the same air as he does right now. The rhythmic clicking of her flat shoes benchmark for his unfolded visualization; half of it is the figment of his imagination and the other the sure ascertainment according to his impeccable sense perception. Perhaps years of shooting and honing his marksmanship didn’t go to waste as his other street-smart skills.  

Not even daring to move an inch of his muscle, the sole sensation he feels now is his cadenced heartbeat - akin to the steps of marching troops. From the pumping chamber of the strongest muscle in his body, without an exaggeration, he could literally feel the infinitesimal push of blood, perpetual and euphonious as Gabi’s serenade had been the day before. His lips thirst for both the cigarette, much coveted nicotine fix escalating tenfold as he could scent the bitterness and the chalky ash traverse along with the breeze. The blend of tainted sheets, his musky sweat still clinging onto him as the visible ring of sheen still tugs and weighs him down to the soiled sheets, the wispy cloud creating the smothering miasma, just an arm’s reach from the bed behind the hidden latch, he sure knows there would be an emergency bag of coke awaiting for him like a foreboding influence of defunct, a wretched reminder down the memory lane. 

If he ignored every nerve concentrated towards Gabi’s movement and his growing heartbeat, the muscle pushing up against his tilted chin as the percussion of the after beat echoes off his head, the room would still look like an abandoned house with no trace of living creature inside. Strewn bottles, bone-dry and covered with dust, cigarette butts strewn all over the threshold even worse than the most popular tourist spots, along with myriads of empty takeout containers, resembling the Leaning Tower of Pisa in its form. The door to the main room wasn’t that far to begin with and if he had his usual, character-defining audacity to do so, he could have taken a good peek over. He also knew that she would be too caught up in her task to notice any of his movements, but like how he was with his profession and everything he does, it was either going all the way or not starting the task at all.  _ Drink until he couldn’t sit upright, snorting until he could see his hallucination having fucking hallucinations, smoking until the room grew noxious with settling fog.   _

Fixed in the position like a lifeless doll, limbs thrown all over the place with the ebbing sensation returning, even with the prospect of making Gabi jump few feet in the air as he inwardly flashes a mischievous grin, it fast fades away as the unpleasant throbbing returns in a succession of flow. An imperceptible twitching of his facial muscle grows to a crease, then his bridge of nose pinches as he fights the urge to groan out, the last clutch for letting his fortified walls, forts of masculinity, the skyrocketing resilience he held proudly up until now - perhaps until the day before, crumbling like the castle built on sand. Feeling the consciousness slowly slip for real, some kind of phantasm holding him down, glued to the bed now basking with plash of scorching heat. Even his rise and fall of his chest diminished, he surely looks like a cadaver, ready to be dissected at any given time. 

Breathing quietly through his nostrils, that’s when he feels Gabi’s two fingers against the carotid, just above the pin-up girl tattoo. her shadow slowly crawls onto his sun-kissed skin, the light wind scurrying along the negative space between them. Feeling an unruly ashen lock brush over the angular features as it rests gingerly against his cheekbone, the corner of his lips upturn as lashes slowly lift like a vibrating camera shutter, the aperture slowed to create a blurring image. Letting out a guttural purr similar to a big cat, his fingers abruptly wrap around her wrist, pulling her closer against him. Languorous, diaphanous yet expressive hazel fixed upon her gray-blue, he places her hand right above his heart, the cleft of his pectoral muscles. “Why the fuck would I be dead when I have a personal ticket for my long-coveted serenade?” His tilted head slowly balances itself as lips glide against hers. “Hello,  _ gorgeous _ .”  

___

This was the twice now in just barely two days, that Nigel caught her off guard with a kiss. The second kiss was not like the first, it was quick, and a light brush of lips. It was just as good as the first for different reasons; she couldn’t help the audible gasp that slipped pass her lips. The second their skin touched, her heart nearly jumped out of her chest and did a fucking tap dance on her open rib cage. The dangerous animal like growl that followed with his greeting, sent a shiver down her spine.  _ OK so he wasn’t dead, that ass… _ she thought about smacking him, but changed her mind, he was hurt after all. So instead she said the first mean thing she could think of. “You need a bath, you are starting to smell.”

Immediately she regretted it. Nope, no, just no fucking way.  All the color drained from her face as the terrible idea danced across her mind. She was not giving him a bath, he could say anything he liked about it, and she would just fucking leave. “But, you can’t get your injury wet.” She added trying to make it better, it wasn’t.  _ Fuck my life. _ Carefully she pried herself from his vice like grip, and pulled away. Glaring down at him she was starting to sulk.  _ When had her life become so chaotic?  _ “I will play for you after I have changed the dressing on your injury.” With that she turned on her heel to seek out the first aid kit. This time she made quick work of it. New set of gloves of the medical kind, she set about cleaning the wound, and throwing away the old bandage. Again she refused to look at him. She only had eyes for her work. Also she was still pissed off, she was being childish, but she didn’t care.

Afterword she wiped the laceration down with some alcohol wipes, she double checked to make sure that the sutures had stayed in place, they had. Bully for her, she had managed to Forest Gump her way through this hot mess. Securing a new binding in place, she smoothed a gentle caress over the whole thing, and sat back to admire her work. Not bad for someone who has no fucking clue what they are doing. With a start she realized she was no longer mad at him, she couldn’t stay angry at him for long. He hadn’t done anything terrible per say.  Honestly now that they weren’t kissing she wanted to kiss him again, but no. She couldn’t be doing this. There was no future with like a guy like this. He probably slept around, and would forget all about her the second he was well enough to go out.

Standing she took off her gloves and threw them out. She cleaned up the mess of supplies she had used. Looking down she found herself staring into those hazel pools, she would let herself be pulled under the water, and die happy. It was his siren song, she was the hapless sailor would was pulled down into the depths. Drowning with a smile on her face. Snapping out of her reverie she went into the other room. Gathering up her cello case she clutched it hard enough to turn her knuckles white. Moving back into his bedroom she brought a chair over. “I will play you one song, and then I will get you something to eat. I am sure you are starving.” There was a small smile on her face, and she set about unpacking her instrument.

This was her element, she felt like a different person now. With her cello in one hand and bow in the other, she could face down any demon. Slender fingers fiddled with the tuning pegs on the long neck of her instrument. She always double checked. She was more confident now, than she was with anything else. The bow was a reassuring weight in her hand. Plucking a few strings to test the sound, a thrill flowed through her veins. She felt like a small bird ruffling its feathers in a bird bath. This was what she knew, and she was always happy to play for anyone who cared to listen. But for some odd reason playing for Nigel was the most satisfying feeling in the world. Eyes closed, she pulled a deep voice from the cello. Strings being plucked with perfect precision. She played the first song that came to mind, the tune of a well known love song.   [ Il Libro Dell’ Amore, ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DiWrIjN27w_M&t=NTIyMmYzMDIyMWI0OTMyOTNhNWU3Zjg3NjdlNmFmNzZlODMzMzRlNix5aFNucFI1TA%3D%3D) better known as the book of love. Head bent, and inclined slightly to the side, she let her music doing all the talking. 


	22. Chapter 22

Parched and chapped lips slightly part as he feels the last jolt of spark rouse him out from succumbing to the time-distorting sleep. Letting go of the tight coil of his fingers from the empty bottle of whiskey, a chatoyant growl along with his usual bedhead makes him look leonine. After months of near immobile shackles around his feet, the longest lock from his mane had grown almost to his shoulders, transforming him to the wounded, yet still formidable male lion who dominated all - If Gabi’s reaction had been utterly priceless the first time, she doesn’t disappoint this time, either. He could only make a believable guesstimate of how their lovemaking would be like. It doesn’t sound too far-fetched from their unique and incomparable relationship - still strangers, communicating through unspoken pacts of agreements with their eyes and aura. 

The splitting ray of light creating a chiaroscuro upon his broad and muscled form, he sinks back to be basted in the glow. Instead of countering her accusation - a rather plausible one at that. He could smell his own blend that has been brewing over the past couple of days. His matted ashen locks were getting oily to the hairline and every whiff confirmed that he needed something to clean himself up. “A bath would be ideal.” He remarks, admitting the fact his body also craves it desperately. The word itself seems to be magical and every muscle and bone in his corporeality seems to disintegrate with the word. “A proposition - perhaps a fucking sponge bath wouldn’t hurt my injury.”  _ Or something remotely close to a fucking steaming water if I can get my goddamn nose under it.  _ Who would’ve ever thought, a man with a body temperature of a molten lava needed a fucking bucketful of water to assuage all the tenseness he was exemplifying? However his body looked from outside the bed, his body was gradually feeling more and more robotic, not fluid, out of his jurisdiction and control.  

"Or at least something clean and wet for me to get this fucking grime off of my body.” His mind briefly wanders to leave a mischievous remark about the whole endeavor, but he decides against it and goes along with the alternative. Reluctantly letting go of the constricting hold, he heaves a dramatic sigh as he concurrently nods, watching her turn to retrieve the first-aid kit. He could feel the purulence skin a bit cool against the surface of the bandages, a stark contrast to how scalding the sensation had been the night before, reminiscent of the fuse of dynamite about to detonate. He hadn’t been lucky to see it happen before his own eyes, but eventually the time will come. He had seen what his own revolver could cause such a calamity and misfortune (of others, mostly), so of course, the curiosity would stretch into the realm of firearms and its mechanics. Usually assertive and in-control, he had never felt so helpless, like an injured dolphin too weak to surface, drowning in his element.    

The bandages remove with a swift tug, yet none of the adhesives from the bandages stick against his clammy skin enough for the skin layer to stretch. His own hazel stare up against her somewhat nonchalant facade, he mirrors her countenance in a frolicsome antic for two reasons - first, no matter how low he sunk to the bottom, the flirtatious and teasing nature never escaped him whole. He could’ve receded back to his mind behind closed eyes but the temptation is too great -  _ he would etch this very moment and not miss down to his grave _ . Like an already existing software, it had been innate to his personality and second, to fight off that lagging consciousness. He didn’t have to worry at all as he hadn’t moved a single limb off from the confinement of the cramped twin-sized bed. Stitches still intact, the gnarled edges of the laceration still blooming deep purple with constant exertion and irritation. With the alcohol against the inflamed area comes the exploding sensation of Pop Rocks going off everywhere, offering both soothing coolness and a repeated remembrance that his body was still capable of feeling all the inner and outer stimuli like a living individual. His breath held, his chest expands along with her smooth stroke over the new bandage offering refreshed re-invigoration. 

His hazel pools are akin to that of a Medusa’s gaze - individuals are well aware that they will meet a sealed fate when they gaze into those unfathomable whirl, but no one can escape it from completely refraining from meeting his gaze. If he ever drowned, his eyes would be the first thing to float against the rippling surface. A smile spreads across his face at the mention of his coveted serenade and more prospect of food. “Then it shall be a fucking dinner date, I would have to reciprocate.” It already feels like emollience, the most potent remedy, better than the act of her slender fingers drawing loops to seal the gaping skin. Each pluck of the string acting as the tapping of the ballet shoes, the sweet dulcet sounding euphony flows effortlessly, charged with raw emotion. Canting his hips to push his broader frame over the metal rods once again, he breathes out an appreciative hum as he visualizes the celestial bodies, tune flowing out like the most sublime poetry. Too absorbed to register a heavy trail of tear roll across and down to be vanished in his copious chest fluff, he tries his best to refrain from more stream like a dewdrops forming along with the dawn of light. Even one like himself, a neophyte who have only gone to few operas along with high-end clients and having heard Gabi’s healing music, each of his breath, in and out, the motion of his chest ebbing and flowing along with the music, drives his emotion beyond the dimension he didn’t know it even existed. 

___

While she had been playing her little serenade her mind kept wandering. It all came back to the words Nigel spoke to her about a dinner date. A small smile curled her lips and she was grinning by the time she ended the song. Nothing made her happier than to be playing music. Her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm, right now nothing could ruin her spirits. Still brimming with gusto and poise, she looked up from her instrument, and caught Nigel staring at her again. This time she couldn’t keep the heat from her gaze. There was so much longing behind that one look, it made her embarrassed. It only got worse when she remembered what he had said about a sponge bath.  _ Oh heck. Nice work Gabi, walked right into that one. _

Getting up she gently set the cello across the now empty chair and placed her bow next to it. A finger traces the outline of one F hole on the front of her instrument. It was almost a shame to stop playing, but she was getting hungry herself. “Right, food.” She left in a hurry moving towards the kitchen, she tried to think of what to make that would be fairly quick. Luckily she had cleaned up before hand, she didn’t think she had it in her to clean the kitchen and cook them both something to eat. Going with something traditional, but simple she settled on Caraway Seed Soup with Dumplings. It only took her about 30 minutes to make, and by the time she was done she was starving.

Putting two bowls on saucers she ladled in soup, and stuck a spoon in the dish of each, it was very hot. Carefully she carried both plates into the room where Nigel was resting. Bully for him that she happen to be able to cook at all. She often found herself cooking for her father and herself. She wasn’t bad and always liked to learn new recipes. This soup happens to be one of her favorites.  _ What a mess, she was… Cooking for him, cleaning his god damn flat. What the fuck, was she now becoming his housekeeper.  _ Never once had she ever seen herself as the domestic type, yet here she was, taking care of some guy she barely knew.  _ I’m too nice, _ she kept thinking over and over.

Offering him one of the saucers, she left him to his own devices, with a small warning. “It’s hotter than lava, I’d be careful.” She sat on the floor by the edge of the bed to eat, she didn’t mind. And oddly enough she felt like being close to him, if he asked she could just claim the chair was taken by her cello, and that she had been too lazy to move it. It would have been a lie, but well worth it. With her knees drawn up to her chest she sat eating. Just enjoying the silence and thinking that she could get used to this. There was something interesting about being able to sit in the same room with someone. And still have the best conversation in the world, with out ever speaking a word.

After she was done she set her dish on the floor and sat there staring at the ceiling for a space of a few minutes. She was very tired,but felt like her job wasn’t done yet.

Getting to her feet finally she picked up her plate and took his too, to go wash their dishes. She didn’t look at him, but the cogs in her head started turning. What could be the harm in messing around, and having fun? She wasn’t a prude; she was just cautious, or skeptical. Standing in front of the sink she tried to keep from giggling. Two people could play at this evil game he was engaging in.  Finished with the dishes she went and collected the clean bucket she had brought with. Biting her lower lip she filled it with semi hot water. It wouldn’t be a real sponge bath, but at least it would get the sweat and grime off of him.  _ What a dangerous game you are playing Gabi.  _ With a clean wash cloth she carried the bucket into Nigel’s room. Kneeling with her bucket at the side of the bed she propped her chin up on her hand. “You know I had a half a mind to dump this on you, but then I don’t want to ruin your bandages. So it looks like you’ll be getting your wish after all.” She let out an exaggerated sigh. Suddenly the room was very hot, or maybe it was just her. Realization dawned on her that she would have to touch him with out gloves on, and her mind stalled like an old engine.  _ Fuck _ …She hadn’t thought this through at all.


	23. Chapter 23

A radiant smile takes over his visage, brighter than the blinding light which seeps through, taking all the dank and gloominess along with it. Who would have ever thought Nigel Lecter, the mere mention of his name carried all things violent - acting on the most raw and impetuous actions, not a single lash fluttered when his hazel pool bore into the diaphanous orbs, the glimmer of life on the blink of extinction as his penetrative laser etched across the widened pupils had just revealed himself like the most unobstructed view of his psyche. As if he wanted to corrode the image of him for eternal, the corpse would take infinite time to completely rot and disintegrate. Becoming a permanent fixture of his establishment, built upon the destruction itself. An ungovernable rage transformed behind the column of compressed air, sometimes behind the zenith of the protrusion upon his metacarpal with a phalanx. Drenched in copious amount of vital fluid, shades of luscious crimson caressing him like the polished surface of black opal, flawless against the glimmering illumination. Invalidating all the duplicitous qualities branded like scarlet letters, Gabi’s tumultuous yet sensual tunes had instantly crumbled the fortified walls, boulders become pebbles, pebbles become surge of dust storm which settles beneath his subconscious. Never in his thirty-something life that he had exposed so much in so little time. 

Roused by her penetrating gaze, he reciprocates with intense gaze of his own, dripping with longing wistfulness. It churns something inside him and the result is irreparable - he recalls he hadn’t ever heard the tunes when Gabi had been playing in front of the cafe all this time and from this euphoric sensation cascading over like the crisp zephyr of early spring, his head whirls to replay all the notes as best as he could. Still basking in the afterglow of the notes dancing and twirling in front of his very eyes at the moment, the effect is irreversible. If Chinese had believed bats were good omen and the shooting star had been universally thought to be considered lucky, this brief and fleeting moment in his life, surpasses the mere three minutes to stretch out to unfade into a translation - amaranthine loveliness. Just like the brief wonder of seeing a shooting star race across the night sky would bring the similar sensation. The composition itself would also be a symbol of reaching their ultimate destiny. There would be no retracting now. The concept of love would always make him somewhat insane, going over what he thought would be capable of.           

Feigning nonchalance, but his heart percussion like a drummer’s solo session, pouring everything that he has in his disposal. His heart bleeds, even more so than his unfortunate evisceration which almost sent him to meet the reaper in person. The aromatic fragrance waltz across the entire room as he takes a deep whiff, his body still completely shook by the lingering grandiose of the tune, leaving him utterly speechless. The nutty, yet delicate anise flavor immediately transports home. Suddenly feeling like a fragile and lithe kid he once had been, the association that comes with food is such a powerful thing. Never for the complexly layered flavors, all the flavors are what he had been accustomed with. Watching her sit on the floor with a curious cock of his brows.  _ Hm, that’s fucking new.  _ All the girls at the club were literally little princesses, feeding of older men’s praises and pampering. Most likely an extension of their unfortunate past translated to their behaviors. Now that they made more money than their ‘normal’ peers - at least what the society considered it, they were free to manipulate and explore the temptress in them. Such naivety along youngsters exemplified by their capriciousness and recklessness. Perhaps he felt the uncontrollable raw emotion whiplash through his form, as his own prime days had been riddled with the same impulsiveness, drifting any way the wind blows. 

“Why don’t you fucking sit on the bloody chair or I can scoot over. I’m not that fucking incapacitated to give you a deserved space, you know.” Ravenously digging into the flowing swirl of the heaping dumplings, succulent as the flavors explode in his mouth. Simple, flavorful and hearty without being too heavy, just like how he likes his soup. The tranquil silence sets like a calm fog of the morning before the petrichor, the air moist but not humid. Feeling like he’s transported to a lush Amazon jungle, full of unexpectedness and excitement. He’d always prefer that way. Not being a sitting duck. Either he’d be utterly consumed to the bones or be a most ferocious predator. Perhaps he could be both with Gabi. She’d evoke and evolve him into something entirely different, like he had crossed the dimension he had never thought he’d cross with surging emotion. 

Seeing the bucket there with the wash cloth, he feels he had been reincarnated as an injured Bottlenose dolphin with its characteristic curved smile. Like he would be wearing the smug smirk as if it had been set as a preexisting element. Sleek and streamlined, just like his own broad, yet toned body with blessed frame of a runner and a cyclist. “If you ever dumped that fucking thing over my head, I wouldn’t be the  _ only  _ one who gets wet.” A flirtatious smirk pivots his cheek as a gentle curve draws his lips upward, just like that attractive smile of the well-liked, gentle dolphin. Nothing gentle about that smirk though. Stomach full, sated and feeling more invigorated than he had ever been, as if the music had fueled his innate aura, propelled by the anticipation of what is to come. “I should stand up, right? I don’t fucking want the bed to get all drenched.” Thigh muscles tensing as his chest expands, a hand cups and follows along the sharp curve of his stubble. “Have you ever given a man a shave?”  

____

Her whole face was still flushed from his comment. Something about them both getting wet, if she had dumped the bucket of water on him. It was rather obscene when he put it that way. At the moment she was doing her best not to make incoherent noises. “You’re probably right it would be better if you stood up…” Right now she wanted nothing more than to crawl in a hole. Or bury her head in some sand like a god damn ostrich. That evil smirk he wore would be the death of her. Slowly little by little she could feel the ice she carried around her heart, start to melt. When he mentioned shaving a man, she nearly choked. Letting out a little cough, she scratched her head.

“It can’t be any harder than shaving my legs.” She was being a smart ass. It was her only defense left to his advances. Much like her ignoring him telling her to sit in the chair or on the bed. Defying him felt good, like she still had a shred of self control left. She had to laugh, this was so insane. The more she tried to resist his magnetic charm, the closer she found she was drawn to him. She cleared her throat; pretty soon she would be throwing herself at him. He wouldn’t even need to try to win her over. Still blushing she kept her eyes lowered. If she looked up she would see his smirk, and be caught by his eyes again.

Helping him to his feet, she felt robotic, and awkward. She had no idea where to put her hands that would minimize contact, and still be helpful. The answer was no where. No where was safe. He was all hard lean muscle and his whole chest was bare save for the bandages. She could do this; it would be no different than dressing his wound. She was not very good at lying to herself. Everything about this was different for one… he was standing. Two he was being a smug little shit. Three she didn’t have gloves on. It was much more… intimate.

Getting the wash cloth wet, holding a bar of soap, she lathered it up just enough to clean him off. No matter how hard she tried to let autopilot mode take over it wouldn’t work, not this time. Frankly she didn’t need to be doing this. Also she was fairly certain that he could probably wash himself… perhaps. What she hadn’t counted on was that she was secretly enjoying this. Soapy wash cloth in hand, she just stared at the middle of his hairy chest.  _ Where did she even begin?  _ Starting at his neck, she ran the wash cloth across his skin. Trying to be thorough and not touch him with her hands. That proved to be impossible. Her head tilted to the side a little bit looking at the tattoo there. Nervously she moved from his neck to his shoulder. “Lift your arm please.” Barking out orders she tried not to sound so cranky. Supporting his wrist with one hand she washed his armpit with the other. Swiftly and carefully she moved to the other side to do the same.

Kneeling down she rinsed the wash cloth out only to reapply soap again. Glancing up the long line of his body from this position was incredibly erotic. Over and over she told her self not to stare at his crotch;  _ don’t look, don’t look, stop looking.  _ She had to close her eyes when she finally stood again. At last she wiped down his chest and sides. Gingerly she worked around his injury, and checked it to make sure she didn’t get it wet. Afterward she rinsed the wash cloth out again, and wiped the soap off of his body. By the time she was done she had a tiny grin on her face. “Now you don’t smell… Shall I get the razor?” She raised a questioning eyebrow at him, with a smug little grin of her own. There was something empowering about having this man at her mercy.


	24. Chapter 24

He could literally hear the confetti going off in every direction in his heart with growing palpitation, strewn all over the chambers and spilling over the ground, covering now swept and almost impeccably clean hardwood floor. Never the one with humility, his self-esteem had always skyrocketed. Known for his assertiveness and being the conducive for closing the most lucrative and clandestine transactions, however far-fetched it sounded, his adept interpersonal skills along with tenacity had the most arduous task look like as easy as a pie. If Darko had been the one with more of a short fuse and always running hot under collar, Nigel had been surprisingly self-assured, maintaining impenetrable composure with sangfroid facade, more biting than the arctic chill. 

Outside of his dealings, he knew well that he had been a chick magnet his entire life. Alluring without gussying up or dressing to kill, all six feet of masculinity with his typical swagger and low, drawling and accented voice. “That wouldn’t be a problem.” An almost devious grin widening briefly, his socked feet presses against the metal bar as hips rotate, legs firm against the ground as an imperceptible grunt slips from his dry lips. Adhered to the bed for more than half a day, his muscles scream and tingle, a hint of cramp surging like a spark of electricity jolts all the tendons and ligaments awake. Perhaps the idea of a girl who had been playing the cello had been already imprinted in his brain, but Gabi was definitely one-of-a-kind, exceptionally charming and magnetic. She’d probably know it already. He wasn’t the one to pay this much attention to anyone. Of course, he had his days of debauchery and living like a libertine, as if the world was coming to an end each single day. _As if he ever gave a fuck._ The experiences - going through the vestibule of different clubs, seeing the blinding radiance of celestial bodies in the form of mirror ball lights, the walls bleak and washed out, the colors gaudy and flamboyant against his dilated hazel pool. Like sinking into a quicksand, the fate had been sealed, the considerable - yet unknown - depth rapturously taking over his form as he yields to the vehemence. _Watch his fucking frenetic heart detonate like an unrestrained dynamite. An immortal phoenix reviving from the ashes of his remains, born anew with charged vigor._ _That’s what it feels like._ If Gabi’s music had reinvigorated him to take the reckless excursion down the flight of stairs, then the sheer expectation of seeing her blush with deep pink hue is as good as the collision of their implicit dialogue. 

“You fucking lost me there, I have no experience of shaving a woman’s legs. Perhaps you would enlighten me someday.” It’s a dangerous and risky tug of war that he plays, between breaking her and drawing her closer, to see how much relentlessness she could take from him. Most women simply would have stopped caring, the temperature not in sync as Nigel’s soul had always boiled inside from the core. Mantle surrounding the core, he longed for the love that would literally consume him hole. His kiss staining Gabi’s porcelain skin, burning her heart along with his. Breaking and fixing her at the same time. More than any drug he sought after, although his mind would take its detour to be distracted with the secret stash, hidden out of sight for now. Perhaps this was the desperate needy child in him urging the attention, the parents he didn’t have when he needed them the most. Skipping the most personality-shaping, critical moments as he had done anything and everything to sustain his life. If he had a choice of going all the way or doing absolutely nothing, then he’d choose former without ever giving it much thought - he’d swim until his body gives out, then he’d sink with exertion. 

Standing like a Greek statue, a contrapposto tilts his hips, a man of charming mien, the scrumptious coppery tone stands out with the contrasting silhouette, the toasty daylight luxuriating the hard skin, along with Gabi’s gaze. Slender fingers working against the grimy skin as the fragrant lavender wraps him like a vine climbing over the walls, his gaze grows evermore intense, akin to a constricting boa never to release its prey. It’s as good as tying her with the tight rope of his hold. Within those two days, short encounters along with wholeheartedness of their aphasia, it’s as if they have known each other all along. Drastically different individual and how they carried themselves. Maybe their shared traits had been what coiled them together into an unbreakable bond.  

As voluptuous pleasure makes its serpentine movement to entrap in the place, he allows their comforting silence do the talking again. The strong and rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, along with slow inhales and exhales that lift his chest. Lips gingerly pressed briefly, a faint smile brightens his slightly pallid facade as his downward gaze, his most mellow and obliging one. His neck pivoting along with her sensual movements and the lather gliding effortlessly against his skin, neck tilts as the venation along his standstill, straightened form. A faint aroma enveloping his body as he feels like a copper statue devoid of green oxidation and polished anew, tongue pushes behind his teeth, assimilating with the curve of his lips. “There should be a straight razor in the overhead cabinet along with the shaving cream. Don’t cut my fucking throat with it, darling.” Deciding against using the electric dry razor which would be much more convenient and quick, he plays along with Gabi, making his own move with a proposition.  _ Let’s see where this ends up.  _

_ ____ _

Some strange emotion came over her. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore. In fact, she was down right intrigued by their little game. He was clearly playing along, and so she would give him something to think about. Inexperienced she may be, but she knew what made people tick. There was a fire in her soul, one that screamed at her to push back. It was the same feeling she got when she did something daring or reckless. A sort of rush, and giddiness, it fueled her true nature and slumbering wild heart. He was everything she was not, but he was also true to whom he was, she felt like she was living a lie. The only thing that made being the good daughter she happen to be, was playing cello. It took away some of the burn, but soon the fire would eat her up.

The song  [ fire by Barns Courtney ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D8AKehIzEQCo&t=MzQyYTRlZTI0ODFiNWZiOGVlMWZlMGI0YzI5ZmE1ZjU1NzMxZGNjOCx5aFNucFI1TA%3D%3D) was playing in repeat over and over in her head, she could not shake it out. Moving to rest the wash cloth on the side of the bucket she went to go fetch the shaving cream and razor. The whole way his words haunted her about enlightening him and shaving legs. She shook her head laughing. While in the small bathroom she took one look at the old fashioned tub, and had to pause for a moment. All she could think about was the two of them in the tub together, him smoking and her shaving her legs. He’d probably turn it into something erotic,  _ fuck what was she thinking, everything he did was… _ He could turn the most unattractive thing into a scene out of porn.  _ Get your shit together Gabi… _ Taking a deep breath she gathered what she was looking for, and walked back out into the lair of the beast.

Not backing down now was the goal. She had started this, and she would finish it. Seeing things through to the end was what she was good at. Determined, and hard working, it would come in handy now. Narrowing her eyes at him, she set her jaw in a unwavering line. Now who was the hunter and who was the prey. Lifting the straight razor in hand she looked at it. It was very sinister looking. Standing in front of him, he was too tall. “Sit.” She ordered, all business now, no fucking around. Helping him sit down she looked him over. There was no way to shave his face with out staring at it.  _ God why was he so fucking handsome? _ Taking the wash cloth she cleaned it and went to the sink and ran it under very hot water. When it was to hot to touch she wrung it out. Walking back over to him she tipped his head back slightly, with two fingers under his chin. If she was smart she would have thrown the whole wash cloth over his face. So that she didn’t have to look at it, but she was on a mission.

Draping the hot cloth over the lower half of his face she let the steam and moisture soak into his skin. After a few minutes she ran the still damp cloth over his chin and the sides of his face.  _ Dear god those cheekbones could cut glass.  _ Shaking the can of shaving cream she lathered his face with it. Now was the tricky part. She had to get close enough to shave his face with out cutting him. Standing with one leg planned between his two and the other on the outside of his left leg. It left her practically straddling him. She didn’t care, not right then, she had bigger fish to fry. She knew how this looked, she could see them both, almost like an out of body experience. It was hot, way too hot, and she was sweating, but she didn’t let it show. Adopting at care-free look on her face and squaring her shoulders. She started slow and made even tracks through the shaving cream on his face.Not thinking about how close their bodies were, was not an easy thing, it lingered in her mind like a song she really liked. And she really liked this… “You know I should be doing homework, but here I am.”

Lucky for her she had dragged the bucket close enough that she could rinse off the shaving cream from the razor every time she made a pass. Feeling sly she finally answered his retort not to cut him. “I’m not going to cut you, though I don’t see that it would matter if I did.” She was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Biting her lower lip she continued with her task with out looking him in the eye. One hand was on the back on his neck, using it as leverage to turn his head when she needed to do so. She didn’t handle him with care when she needed him to turn his head, she was a little rough. She was frustrated and could hit something. He would just be the bearer of her wrath for now. Finally finished she used the wet wash cloth to wipe off any remaining shaving cream. Bending down to clean the wash cloth, she stood up way to fast and banged her head on his chin. “Fuck…” It hurt like a mother… clutching the top of her head she was seeing stars. Pretty hazel colored stars.


	25. Chapter 25

He had prodded the what it seemed like a smoldered coals, but they had still grown grayish under the deceitful outwardly appearance. The kindled fire effectively hidden from the sight now in full bloom, the heatwave spread through the entire atmosphere. He wasn’t ever the one to care how he presented himself, at least he did with his underlying personality. With his appearance, he had to follow the social conformity in cases of meetings with the clienteles. Fully covered in jet black head to toe, the hue caressed him like an innate color of his soul. Holding the property to contain all the colors, the color creates a protective barrier for him, absorbing all the energy directed at him, empowering and enshrouding his existing personality. Positively, black communicates absolute clarity to him, with no fine nuances. It communicates sophistication and uncompromising excellence, which creates a perception of weight and seriousness with his brand of menace and violent behavior attached if things didn’t go as plan. He preferred it, because the color itself symbolizes who he really is without being too glamorous and ostentatious. To envelope her with his heaviness or to let her take charge, whatever happens, he knows she’s not at all the embodiment of innocence and good girl hype. 

A hand smoothing over the luscious skin, opulent with the fragrance still caressing over him like the basking sunlight. Ah, where was the fucking smoke when he desperately needed one? With a decisive press of his sole against the floor, he dramatically turns towards the dresser and briefly rummages through the carelessly stacked pairs of jeans. He’s bound to find a crumpled pack with few smokes hanging out from the back pocket and a jackpot. Finding two sticking out along with a matchbox, he can’t help but to let the grin on his face plaster upon like a permanent fixture. Stretching from cheek to cheek, a satisfied hum lifts his chest as he flicks the match to lit, quickly taking a much-needed drag as he lets the whirl of smoke sweep the every inch of his tastebuds. As if he had been placed in the mold for the second time, an invisible shape securely holding him in place, turned torso rotates back to the original position as he watches Gabi return with the necessary items. 

With his gaze somewhere between Gabi’s forehead and nose, not directly looking at her in the eye with his downward gaze, fingers curve around the frame as he brushes past her, situating himself to lower his hips down against the mattress. Blinking slowly with his lips parted, a cigarette poised between the corner as a continuous line twirls across the warm air. His own exhale becoming an ectoplasm along with the showering daylight, he power smokes through, discarding the stub as soon as he feels the heat transfer onto the digits. It’s as if he’s positioned in a different universe, the stardust in her gray-blue eyes, growing deeper than the supernova with each passing minute. His gaze penetrative and tuned in to every detail of her action, he puts just enough pressure onto her two fingers, not too defiant, not too submissive.  _ Ah, she already likes me too, just like how I had imagined. _ Inwardly grinning like a Cheshire cat, the big leopard is already healed enough to be completely discerning. Every nerve directed towards her touch and eyes’ path. 

He could literally feel the every pore open up to soak in the steamy moisture as his tipped chin remains locked in place, slender fingers gingerly placed upon his thigh and idly running against the fiber of the pants. Appreciative hum along with an audible exhale lifts his chest, another hand propping his drooping torso, leaning against the headboard. He would’ve rather asked her to get his pants off and wash the lower part of his body, as the injury prevented him from doing so. Preferring to get much closer with the skin and feel the impeccable smoothness of a porcelain skin, he definitely could get the shaving done faster and more efficiently. He wanted to push her further until he didn’t have to make inevitable advances. “Consider this an inexorable and irrevocable experience.” Trying his best to enunciate the words without moving too much facial muscles, as soon as she begins to scrape away bits of white cream in increments, an arm steadies against her waist, broad palm firm against the dimple. 

His face, gaining color and tinting with his usual olive healthy glow, grows radiant as lips upturn and twitches a little. A satisfied purr afterwards as he decides not to speak out his thought.  _ What if she held the blade right square against my throat, right above the carotid? Or better, his adam’s apple, bobbing and pressing against the blade, radiating with his heat? _ Allowing her to manhandle him, as however she wanted to, he doesn’t blink even once and remains lip-shut, staring all the time as she continues to move with fluid motion. A hand unconsciously smoothing over the dewlap and chiseled jawline with a feline tilt of his neck, the sudden collision knocks the air out of his lungs, his torso in a pendulum as it swings back, an arm still supporting her spine like it belonged there. Mentally throwing his usual f-bombs and remaining impassive facade as his jaw sets, a rough tug places Gabi in the same straddling position, their bodies contacting even more. Chest to chest. A gentle throb still radiating from his pointed chin, hips gyrate as he pins her down, a knee pinned between her legs. “I fucking didn’t think you’d get yourself in this position, bloody hell,  _ Gabi _ .” A dripping gaze, then lips clash against hers, fingers clasped around her neck, thumb brushing over the fiery locks which hinders his view. 

____

How did she get herself in this position? That was a very good question. This time she could only blame herself. If she said she didn’t want it or didn’t like it that would be an out right lie. She did like it and did want it; she wanted it all and more. Everything that he had to offer, she wanted to drink it in. Just like the whiskey they had shared, burning all the way down. Not even the throbbing pain in her head could knock any sense into her right now. The spark in her heart was back with vengeance. That tiny little fire, which was nothing more than a hot coal two days ago, was now a small steady burning fire.

Being pinned underneath his body like this was something akin to being stuck in an enclosure with the tiger. There was no where to go. There was no resistance in her, and she had looked into those drowning hazel wells, just before their lips met. She could feel herself sinking, wading in deeper over her head. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she placed one on his chest, and another just on his shoulder. She was walking on a tightrope; everything could turn into something completely different in a matter of seconds. An inexorable and irrevocable experience indeed. Gabi was not new to kissing or making out, in fact she had perfected it while in high school. It was other things she had no experience in…

Giving in felt so good, the feel of his lips pressed into hers like nothing she ever had before. This was not the same thing as kissing random boys at school. There was an element missing in those encounters that was in full force here. Passion, lots of passion and lust. She kissed him back hard, like it would be the last kiss she ever received. Cautiously she ran the tip of her tongue over his bottom lip, tasting him.  Gabi had wanted to do that since the first time they shared a kissed. She could still taste the cigarette he just smoked, it lingered on her tongue like an after dinner mint. Her whole body was alight and felt like it was on fire. Each part of their bodies pressed together, every pressure point where they fit together was even hotter.

He must have been feeling better if he was pinning her down and rolling her like a crocodile. She had been wrong, so very wrong, to ever think that she was a hunter. Maybe in another lifetime, she certainly had snared something on her hook. A shark… she might be a fisherman, but the fish she caught was not be trifled with. A piranha, he would eat her whole, and leave nothing but bones. Her mind wandered to the famous poem from Alice in Wonderland. ‘How doth the little crocodile’ was the name. ‘And welcomes little fishes in with gently smiling jaws.’  How relevant it was, she was his little fish. Even though she didn’t want to submit to him fully, she didn’t want to break their kiss. She was enjoying herself way too much.

Letting him deepen their kiss she felt the press of his tongue, and she nearly melted from the inside out. Frantically her heart beat in her chest, her entire body was flushed, and she was so turned on. With out even realizing it she let her hands roam over his upper body. Her nipples grew hard, and she was breathing so heavy she had to break contact long enough to take a deep breath. Self control was completely thrown out the window at this point. Less then a minute later she was back to kissing him, with renewed vigor. Groping his ass, she moved her body against his, and sliding her hands upward across his chest. When her hands met bandage her house of cards crumbled, falling down around her ears. Reality hit her like a gut punch. She shouldn’t be doing this.

There were a million reasons why, and him being hurt just one of them. It was getting late on top of it. At last she broke their kiss and slipped out from under his arm like an eel. Quickly she straightened her cloths. “I have to go… I have homework.” She cleared her head and her throat feeling guilty and regretting breaking contact with him. She would hate herself later, right now she needed to get out of here. Swiftly packing her things, she remembered the gun this time. Digging it out of her purse she laid it on his dresser before rushing out in a hurry. Cello case in hand and a heavy heart in her chest. As soon as the door closed behind her she rest her back against it, she let out a sigh. She didn’t know why, but she felt like crying. Instead she bit the inside of her cheek and headed down the many flight of stairs.


	26. Chapter 26

The sinking pressure of his left knee traverses through the side, the unpleasant sensation surging through the skin like the thorns on the rose stem. Both rapturously painful and beautiful. He knows if things got more intense and stepping into an inevitable, the exertion from the copulatory act itself will both literally and figuratively turn him inside out. Letting him immerse in the deep whirling gray-blue, matching his own intensity as he accepts, no matter how vigorously he rotates that oar to be freed from the expanse of her deep-set, jet-black painted lids and  _ god, those fucking eyes _ . If his hazel orbs were the manifestation of glowing embers, hers would be counteractive yet equally tempestuous. Within the deceitfully tranquil surface, lied the whirlpool which will bring forth an Elysium. The unquenchable bonfire going off, entrapped in vine full of thorns. His windows of the soul briefly gazes at the cleaned, glistening narrow strip of the blade, reflecting the bit of daylight now receding behind the horizon. _ Just a bit more, until my body couldn’t take it anymore. _ Shifting his weight onto his right leg instead, a grunt parts his lips as he lets enclosed in his own sweltering heat. 

Again, no amount of words fail to express how his body longingly wants this, the exhilaration and anticipation alone driving his body in an autopilot. Needing no guidance, but letting his muscles do the work, the spark of their eyes makes something inside him stir. The flickering electricity licking over the spine as skin trembles, broad hand sweeping over her side and the other calloused fingertips still caressing over her face. The gesture itself had symbolized that he was still holding onto the last clutch of the rope. If he let go of that last strung up cord, then he would cross no point of return. He’d die expressing the love, letting his body be the apparatus to adjure the contact, communicating through coeur to coeur. 

The pendulum swings inside his head as he returns the passionate kiss, lips gliding, devouring her like he would of his prey without being too desperate. It’s already hellacious enough to restrain himself from gathering more momentum. No matter how much he had been injured and his body still a slave to recurrent surges of pain too familiar all his life, still, he was a predator. Never had he realized he would placed in a perspective of a tamed beast for a short while. An audible swallow as his filmy orbs drip with both dulcet sweetness and polydipsia. Imbibing her taste transfer onto his lips as he stills. Like the lightening storm making the evening sky positively effulgent, the world comes to a slow still as nothing outside of his bedroom matters. Deathly quiet, except his drumming heartbeat. conducive against hers as the sensation echoes through the skull, drawing out the sudden blow from her earlier. 

Tongue pushing inside her and exploring her mouth like a lost kid frantically trying to find his way out from the intricate labyrinthine maze, pink flesh glides with both assertion and warmhearted sweetness. The aromatic lavender overwhelmed by a diaphanous layer of sweat, the expanse of his back billows like rolling wave, kissing over the beach repeatedly as he grows insatiable for the firm press of their lips, bodies, soul, aura.  _ Everything _ . 

The fluid motion of her hands acting as more oxygen and fuel for the dying flames, as his heart presses against the ribcage, the throbbing and prickling sensation increases with no point of stepping onto the brake. With her hand over the bandages, the grim reality sets in. There’s simply no fucking way he could do this now. He’d either drown in flowing stream of his own blood or the least thing it could happen is ruining everything and making it worse. Treacherous to his own roused body, it doesn’t cooperate as he reluctantly lets go of her as he rolls back with a strained groan, drenched from head to toe yet again. Disappointed, but succumbing to his body’s silent screaming, the ruddy complexion takes over his torso and face. As if he’s hearing a third frequency, Gabi’s frantic movements feel like a hallucination from his usual high, everything becoming flurries of broad brushstrokes of an abstract painting. Edges merged, swirling as his brain muddies everything inside the room. When he rouses enough to register, it’s too late to get up and the door is already closed. On top of the personal serenade, the kiss had recharged his vigor and now he lies completely depleted, still a slave to pandemonium which seems to happen throughout his body.    

___

After having fled the scene of her crime, she was bitter and hating herself. She should have known better, he was still too fucked up to be doing anything overly physical. She had egged him on, and played temptress. There is no doubt in her mind that if he had been well, she would have slept with him. She didn’t know what it was about him. But she wanted to give him all of herself, and take everything he had to offer. Just thinking about their hot passionate kiss sent her body into overdrive, damn she had it bad. Whatever this was, it was real. She wouldn’t call it love just yet, but it was something. Even though she knew barely anything about him, she felt like they had known each other for ages.

A day went by, and she didn’t go back to the flat to see him. She knew if she went back there, things would happen. He needed time to heal, and her being there would not help at all. All she wanted was to tear his fucking clothes off.  The fact that he was willing to let her, just made her want him even more. It wasn’t just lust that was driving her either. She was generally curious about him, she wanted to know everything. Or at least anything he was willing to tell. The fact that he loved her music was enough to send warm tingly feelings down her body.  With the weekend coming up it would be agonizing. Two whole days of nothing to do, but sit around and mope.

That is just what she did to. The whole weekend she lay around the house sighing, and day dreaming. She tried to keep busy, but everything was dull and boring. She couldn’t concentrate. Her mind kept straying to thoughts of Nigel, she hoped he was doing well, and taking care of himself. Some how she didn’t think he was. Oh how badly she wanted to see him. She was being a coward, hiding here at home. She was scared of where this was all going, she was afraid of having her heart broken. He could be a giant womanizer for all she knew. She knew nothing about him. With a sudden realization she didn’t care.  _ So what if he was, what would be the worst thing to happen? _ They would sleep together and go their separate ways. As much as she thought she would be ok with that, she wasn’t. Sure she would be upset for a while, but she would get over it. That was just the thing though she didn’t want just a one night stand.

A one night stand wouldn’t satisfy her all the way. She wanted all or nothing, to explore his body, and let him touch her all over. To stay in bed with him for the whole weekend just being close. She found herself fantasizing about it. At one point she burnt herself cooking because she couldn’t get him out of her head. Using the pain to make herself focus she was now sporting a band aid on the left pointer finger. Falling so hard and fast for someone had never happen before. She had crushes and puppy love in the past. Of course her one true love was music and her cello. Something she never thought would be possible. But the thoughts of Nigel were up there with how she felt about music. Two things she could say meant the world to her. He was rough around the edges, and crude. He swore so much it made her ears want to bleed. He was nothing at all like her music, but it didn’t matter. He was just as beautiful and unique. To her he was special and it was something to be cherished, for her that was everything.

On Monday she was so far gone, her friends at school thought she was sick. Oh if they only knew. She was sick alright, love sick… That had been the last straw, three days of pining away like some maiden waiting for her lost love to return from the sea. If she had been thinking clearly she would have gotten his phone number. At least then she could have checked up on him. Stupid, stupid stupid.  After school she worked up the courage to go visit his flat. She couldn’t wait any longer she had to see him, even if it was just for a little bit. She had to know that he was alright.

By the time she reached the landing on the fifth floor, she was so excited. It made her happy to know that she would get to see him. With out knocking she tried the door knob to flat 502A, it was locked. She was disappointed, not discouraged she knocked anyways. When their was no reply or anyone to answer the door she became worried. Maybe he was sleeping? She knocked again… nothing. She was devastated. She was so wrapped up in the idea of seeing him that she hadn’t thought that he wouldn’t be home.  Of course he wasn’t here, he was probably out doing whatever it is that grown men do. What a fool she had been to think that this was anything more than a fleeting fantasy. Slumping to the floor she sat with her back to his door, and her knees drawn to her chest. No matter how much she told herself she wouldn’t get worked up over something so stupid, she did anyways. She couldn’t keep the tears from falling. There was no way to tell how long she sat there like that, but when a shadow fell across her huddled figure she looked up wiping black dyed tears with the back of her hand. It was Nigel standing in front of her, he was smoking and god he was so fucking beautiful. She was never happier to see him, and if she had been a puppy she would be wagging her tail. She just wanted a little attention and affection from him. 


	27. Chapter 27

When he comes to the senses, his cell phone inside the leather jacket is going off for millionth time and as much as he wants to ignore it, it continues to ring in the middle of the night. He doesn’t even remember what had happened after Gabi left - he could still hear the percussion of his heart, going at it like a hummingbird’s wings flapping right against his eardrums. He doesn’t have to confirm to push a hand inside his boxers, as his crotch is wet with viscous liquid. He just slipped and fell into some kind of hole or better, the physical exertion acted like a chloroform over his mouth, serving like a kiss of death. If he could meet coup de grace such as this myriads of times, he would die happy. The ringing phone the most abhorrent thing he can face. His body still feeling like too much of an abundance and even moving his fingers require too much effort until his atrophied muscles jolt awake. He dawdles towards the living room, a sleepwalker’s lethargic steps as he wobbles, each left step has his teeth clenching in an awkward way due to the pain resurfacing. At least the fever had been subsided and the stitches had held in place. 

As soon as he picks up the phone, Darko’s maniacally angry voice completely arouses him up. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve called you like hundredth times already.” Glowering at the phone as he puts iPhone through the speaker, he thinks about barking at his long-time partner for not leaving the fuck for him to properly recuperate. “Haven’t you fucking heard? I have been incapacitated, glued to the fucking bed for the past couple of months.”  _ And where was your fucking ass while I have been spilling viscera and blood like a bloody gutted fish.  _ Unfastening the belt and hurling the pants across the threshold of the kitchenette, he saunters back into the bedroom with the phone on the coffee table, grumbling through as Darko’s less than savory tone cacophonous against his ears. Where was Gabi’s serenade when he really needed one? 

“I have been working double as your fucking ass had been resting, I need you fucking pronto right now. High clientele meeting, at eleven pm. Get your fucking ass over here, I have the suit ready for you to wear.” With a dramatic tilt of his chin as fingers curl around the grip of the revolver, comfortably heavy against his hand. Underwear chucked off, he carelessly wipes a bit of a glistening fluid against the fabric as his flushed cock leaks even more of the precum between webs of his finger. “Don’t fucking expect me to ride my goddamn bike or car, No fucking bloody way my ass is gonna be there that soon.” Grunting between words as he pulls the boxer briefs and clean pair of loose jeans, he checks the time. 10:35pm, the next day.  _ The next fucking day. _ He had passed out for more than twenty four hours. The meeting goes smoothly than he had anticipated, mainly because he still hadn’t been sure the suture would hold up under the bandages. The daydream continues as his mind repeatedly visualizes the heated and fervent kiss that left him passed out in the puddle of moonlight. 

After Darko confirms Nigel is indeed well enough to stand on his own feet and carry himself as well as, at least as close as he had done before his injury, he insists the taller and broader man to literally shackled to the club like a fucking lab rat in an experiment. Darko’s reason had been his presence made everything different and in fact, the rather snarky comment held true. He knows it so as he isn’t the one with humility nor humbleness. The girls are glad to see their ‘bodyguard,’ that’s what had become of him when any threatening situation presented. Having briefed by Darko about the meetings, his spiral to the life before the injury is as quick as how Gabi had both convalesced and paralyzed him. The mere thought of the kisses - however short and fleeting they had been, enables him to carry out the given tasks assigned, wanting to proliferate and stretch the span of time. For three days he had been in the club, the injuries heel faster than he had anticipated. Due to the abundant use of painkillers along with the psychedelic high, which helps him to heighten the senses, both tactility and shared breaths between them. Film reel placed on infinite amount of pauses and rewinds, he still doesn’t know why he feels this way -  _ the only conclusion he can come to is it must be fucking love. _

The weekend flies by faster than he anticipates. Of course, he’s worn out from all the ‘welcoming’ parties and copious amounts of shot glasses and rows of angel dust to participate in bibulous activities to get sloshed and stoned. Now crapulent and emaciated with both the overload of work and discord between his physicality and mentality, his inveterate attraction to the debauched lifestyle and the effrontery to kill along with Darko on his side would be his mortal nemesis which he cannot detach from. With the zenith of weekend over and done with, he slips into a deep oblivion inside his office, donning a set of dark circles underneath as the veins in his face sticks out, a bone-dry bottle of whiskey loosely hung by his side. 

A deep frown creases his crow’s feet as he rouses with the afternoon light filtering through the tiny window by the office. The club dead empty, the establishment will be at its full throttle when the weekend rolls around. Armani suit jacket over his shoulders, still dressed in all black as oxfords rhythmically click, the taxi soon pulls over in front of his flat. The side healed up, the ugly distortions and jagged edges are replaced by a pink tint, the skin still sensitive against the touch. Nevertheless, all he needs to do is to pull the suture out and feed himself. Some substantial meal from the cafe and... Gabi’s kiss. 

Those flights of stairs feeling like a sticky molasses holding him down, more grueling than the climb from the cafe with the torn stitches. A lit cigarette poised between his index and middle fingers and soles of his feet skipping the stairs, he internally hums. With the hefty hunk of commissions and a well-deserved rest for few days, he would be sure to get his physique up and fix that damned broken down car, a fucking useless junk... A backward tilt of his head as he exhales the smoke, wispy cloud twirling as this fillip which gets matters off to a spirited start of the midday. Finding Gabi hurdled up in front of the door with tear stains visible under her makeup. “I should give you a fucking spare key, so you don’t have to sit here like a lost puppy, gorgeous.” A sly grin radiating from his sun-kissed face, an arm reaches out in front of her as the smoke dangles from his lip. Pulling her upward with a gentle tug, he slowly blinks once, the nicotine surging deep down his throat along with a indescribable sensation which could be only defined as lust. “I’ve missed you.” His cigarette-holding arm wound around her back as his body presses firmly against hers, lips glide against the curve of her neck.  

___

Being gently hulled to her feet and embraced by Nigel was one of the single most electrifying moments of her young life. If she had wings she would fly, and her heart soared. He was offering her a spare key and everything that came along with that prospect. He called her a lost puppy, and never truer words have ever been spoken, she was his lost puppy. It made her laugh, oh how he knew her to the core. It was as if he could read her thoughts. Her throat grew tight with emotion. Her pulse had spiked to an all time high.  _ God his hands felt so good on her body. _ With smoke swirling around them like confetti, she let herself be absorbed by this wild man and those hazel eyes.

He whispered those words; ‘I missed you’ they purred against her neck like a cat happy to be petted. He missed her; it didn’t quite register in her brain just yet. When his lips touched her neck, nearly fell at his feet, weak in the knees. She was a wreck. She was a ship at sea, and he the rocks she would dash herself upon. Tilting her head back, she stared at the ceiling, while his mouth pressed kisses against her throat. Carding her fingers through his hair, she had to choke back a moan. There was no way that she was only one feeling these emotions. The fireworks between them weren’t a one man show. It was pyrotechnics for two. Made up of unspoken words, and shared looks.

Letting out a little gasp of air, she whispers back. “I had to see you…” She hadn’t even realized she had said it until it was too late.  _ Was it too much?  _ Embarrassed she covered it up with. “I wanted to check up on you, to make sure you were ok.”  _ Don’t start Gabi, don’t ruin this _ . She couldn’t stop the burn that spread across her cheeks. She wanted to hide her face. Instead she looked up at him, he was staring down at her with such heat, that she melted. With her fingers still behind his head and running through his hair, she pulled him down into a kiss. She went to her tippy toes to make it easier on him. So that he didn’t have to bend over.

All those walls she built up around herself came crumbling down. There was no house built that could withstand the heat of his flame. She might as well have been the one who struck the match. The only reason she didn’t burn alive was because she was part of the fire. Kindred flames, finding one another to fed off of. They would watch cities burn down around them, together, arm in arm. ‘Oh gimmie that fire. Burn burn burn.’ A never more fitting song. She kissed him so hard, she could feel the press of his teeth against her lips. It was bruising; she could feed from his lips, taking the fire inside her own body. Let it consume her, see if it would incinerate her from the inside out.  When she pulled away she was out of breath. “I can’t stay, but I brought you something to eat.”

Her voice was hoarse, from the kiss they shared. Looking down she felt shy all of a sudden. The small bit of courage she had found to kiss him puffed out. As a distraction, she bent to scoop up the bag she had with her. With another thought she added “I figured maybe, I’d give you my number if that is ok…” Digging into her bag she found a marker, Damn, she didn’t have any paper. With a sly grin, she took his hand, and with the other she unbuttoned his shirt at the wrist, and pushed back his sleeves. Pulling off the cap with her teeth, she wrote her phone number on his arm. It was a permanent marker, so it would be there for days. Biting her lower lip, with a grin she blew on it so it would dry. “If I don’t answer during the day, it’s because I’m at school.” Smiling at him, she pressed the bag into his hand. Before she did anything stupid, she balanced herself with a hand on his chest, and kissed him on the cheek, then turned to dash down the stairs. 


	28. Chapter 28

He let more eloquent silence speak the words for themselves for while. Broad palm searching for the contact with her flesh under the thin jacket she had been wearing, his smoldering imprint burns through the lush skin as the affectionate gesture anchors him firmly to the ground. Chin tilted and lids fluttered close, the mind sinks down to the unfathomable pit of her scents. The sensation alone defies gravity, like the shooting star spanning through his brain, just like how ancient Greeks believed - rising and falling of human souls. His own soaring through the sky, bright and burning eternally across the vast celestial sphere. Instead of pressing her against the metal door or the bricked surface, he lifts her slightly off the ground, steadying her as he could literally feel the uplifted grin stretching his lips, dipping his cheek as the healthy glow returns instantly. She was the means to coloring him whole, painting his shades of gray with flamboyant pigments. His emotion swinging in a pendulum, gradually turning into a metronome going at a speed of sound. 

With Gabi’s words, he knows the reason for her being here doesn’t only have to do with the prospect of checking out his recovery. Oh, he had been invigorated enough to walk with diminishing pain and when he could gormandize and imbibe on his usual choice of gluttony and poison, he knows he’s finally onto a road of well-deserved recovery. With her music and presence, she would be the conduit and fuel for everything else. If he had been Icarus, he would not hesitant to be blinded by the sight of the surrounding ray, perforating every feather to render them useless against the enraptured hot spell, caressing his skin like both the most emollient elixir and venomous toxicant and would expire over and over again with a wide grin on his face each time.   

Purring against her skin as a broad stroke tastes her whole, yet again, he knows her sole reason for being here right in front of his doorstep isn’t just because she missed him. Sometimes opposites attracted, but maybe they weren’t  _ that  _ opposite to begin with. Within just a span of a week’s time, Gabi had drawn out his other personality - a preexisting one - he didn’t know could be materialized. His softer side, repressed enough in his unconscious enough for the others to merely see and label him as this macho man, wrapped in a veiled suit of all things masculinity, a notorious criminal on the streak of anything and everything horrendous. Peel off a myriads of layers to find that he would go through anything and everything for the person who had stolen his heart. 

With a slow, dripping gaze which exudes thick honey, the fiery windows of his soul contains her frame whole, growing all-consuming and zealous. Allowing her to handle him however she wanted, he matches the gentle kiss, kindled bright like gnawing oak of the fireplace, crackling as the embers glow to fulminate. Deeper, harder, more. Growing more infatuated and insatiable, lips move like the impetuous winds, growing more violent without devouring her whole - exploring her mouth and nipping, the heart presses against his windpipe. Lungs burning with such intensity that he disintegrates like an old book - crumbling into pieces with each nip and grope of her lips. 

Lashes flicker like the candle in the wind as his usual intense gaze burns through her, the tip of his tongue presses against his lower lip, clutching for her taste. I could kiss you all fucking night. Even before having you whole. Again relying on their silent conversation as his frenetic heart continues to press against his ribcage. Instead of answering her proposal, a pleased hum gasps out as another cigarette plucks out from the front pocket of his shirt. Matching her facade as he doesn’t have to make a guess - he is sure Gabi could feel the lub-dub of his still racing heart. “Hm.” All he could emit is another satisfied hum, as his feet adheres to the floor as if he had just stepped on a layer of quick-setting cement. Standing petrified until he arouses with his fingers still clasped around her small brown bag, when he yanks himself out of the blurring bliss of her bewitchment, he could literally catch his pronounced cheekbone with his vision as his visage gleams with something between a simper and a smirk. As soon as he shuts the door behind him to be alone, he leans against the cold steel, the warmth from his body sweeping through his back. Taking the unlit cigarette and idly rolling around his lips, he can’t restrain himself from expressing his inward flips and shits. “Not so fucking naive, aren’t you,  _ darling _ .” He’s up for playing whatever this is - a push and pull that borders to break with irreparable damage and once it breaks, there would be no point of return for neither of them. 

___

Gabi felt like she was walking on air. She ran the whole way home from Nigel’s flat. Giddy could only begin to describe how she felt right now. It started to pour before she got home, but she didn’t give a shit, in fact there was something purifying about it. For good measure she even jumped in a god damn puddle. Baptized in fire, and blessed with rain, she felt the spark in her chest; grow too big for its small confines. Staring up at the sky letting the rain wash over her, before she had to go into the house, she let out a small laugh. Subconsciously she knew that she had now hooked her shark. But that had never been her goal; she didn’t plan any of this. If she was being honest, she had no fucking clue what she was doing. She was flying by the seat of her pants. One thing was sure, she was playing with fire.  _ Would she get burned? _

Once inside, her father scolded her for staying out in the rain so long, he said she would catch her death. Not letting that get her mood down, she trotted up to him, pecked him on the cheek and went to go take a hot shower. After she got out she was standing in front of the fogged glass of the mirror. Swiping a hand across its surface, she wiped a streak in the condensation. She washed away her smeared dark make-up and looked in the mirror. The smile that looked back at her was radiant.  _ How could someone make her feel so light? _ Her mind whirled over and over. Replaying the events of the last two days, in repeat. The last two kisses they shared had been out of this world. It made her whole body flush thinking about it. She brushed her teeth and tried not to think about the weight of his body on top of hers.

Toweling her hair dry she walked back into her room. For what ever reason, she couldn’t stop picturing him fully naked and perfect, standing in front of her like a mirage. Covering her face with her towel she shook her head. Flinging the towel on to the back of her desk chair, she unpacked her cello. She was still only wearing a towel around her body, but for some reasons she felt compelled to play. The song that came pouring from the voice of the instrument was a beautiful love  [ song by U2 ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DSCgomyvD_PQ&t=YTY2ZjI1ZTVmNWRmNWVmYzM4OWJiNmZkNTBiZWViOGVhZmUzYzRkNix5aFNucFI1TA%3D%3D) , but in the tone of the cello, it almost made her cry. Gliding fingers across strings and bow playing the perfect melody, she closed her eyes, and let everything fade away. With her eyes closed all she could see was Nigel’s eyes, and the only thing she could hear was her song.  When the song was over she lovingly put her instrument away, tucking it in like a child.

With a great sigh she flopped back onto her bed, face first. She lay there face planted in her pillow, all her thoughts were of Nigel. It was impossible not to touch herself, when all she could think about was his hands all over her body. She couldn’t help but wonder if he got off thinking about her. The idea made her wet, and not because she just had a shower. She wanted to watch him, see him playing with himself. The image burned a hole in her brain sending a shiver down her spine. She had to bury her face deeper into her pillow to cover up the involuntary moan that escaped her lips. Rolling over onto her back she lay panting, and flushed from release. Staring at the ceiling she knew she had to see him again soon.

An idea started percolating in her brain. She wanted to see him, but she needed an excuse to do so, she didn’t want to look desperate, and god she was so very desperate for his touch, his mouth, everything. The Bucharest Opera House was having a show in just a few days time. With her father as a music teacher, and a well known advocate of the arts, she could score two tickets faster than you could say, Bucharest Opera House. Grinning like a fool, she dug out her phone from her messenger bag. She was very glad they had exchanged phone numbers, so that this wouldn’t be too awkward. It was getting late, but she threw the rule book out the window and texted him anyways. There was no reply for over ten minutes, and she thought maybe she wouldn’t hear from him. When her phone buzzed she nearly threw it across the room trying to pick it up. His answer had her laughing, biting her thumb nail, so she just went for it, and asked him to go to the Opera with her. What he texted her back, had her dying. She was rolling around on the bed for what seemed ages, before she was coherent enough to send a reply back. He called it a date, of course, he would, and he knew her too damn well.  _ Would she ever be able to out smart him? _ The Opera show was in three days, just enough time to buy a dress, and try not to die from anticipation.

On the third day, she found herself standing in front of the door of flat 502A. She was wearing an elegant black dress cut low, with thin straps. A swath of red swirled about her ankles in stark contrast to the upper portion of her dress. It had a split up the side that showed lacy stocking, and the only jewelry she wore was a silver necklace with red ruby drops. Everything looked more red and bled like blood when blended with her bright red hair. Gabi was thanking her best friend for helping her pick the dress out. She was clutching a tiny little hand wallet and her heart was hammering. Knocking first she let herself in to his flat, she was early. They had just enough time to chat a little bit, before they had to leave for their show. 


	29. Chapter 29

Chin tilting against the cool door, the grin widens further akin to a wing span of a resurrected phoenix, about to soar into the sky as it lets out a thundering caw. Perhaps he is the materialized embodiment of the mythical creature. Just as what it symbolizes, it marks his resurgence, the second long chapter of his life which would be invaluable. Every inhale seems to take part of her soul into his lungs and vice versa. Perhaps she was the means to making him petrified, helpless against the unsettling darkness which surrounds him. How hypocritical that a nocturnal individual such as himself also made him to succumb to a trepidation. Tongue caressing over the back of his lower lip to taste her lingering imprint, he takes a whiff from the sealed brown bag. He can still feel the steam rise from the bag along with the succulent aroma of pastrami sandwich, another one of his favorites from the generations-old cafe downstairs. The food is the last thing that’s on his mind now - like boots trudging through the mud, he begins his long excursion through the bathroom. The sandwich will taste even better cold. 

Deciding against fetching his cell from the jacket that had been swung carelessly over his shoulder, his body gleams like a gold medallion with sheen of sweat covering in a semi-circle, dripping over his pectorals. Soiled Armani shirt discarded off to the side and flexing his aching muscles, feeling his veins turn into thunderstorms, which begins to mirror his frenetic body about now. The cascades of continuous rain beating against the windows, he tends to his aching erection as he steps into the shower, leaving his usual trail of pitch-black fabric marking his territory. Still inflamed from the kiss, not enough torrent of cold water can quench the rising tide as fingers splay against the throbbing length. Head tilted back against the tile, he lets himself bask in the growing libidinous desire, eyes closed as the drowning drumming of each pour heightens his senses. 

With controlled movements of his fingers as he continues to piston, even with slight tremor raising goosebumps on his skin, his face tint with slight flush, the quickened breaths tightens his body like a constricted coil. Drawing out the confounded gratification as languorous stroke continues, spine arching as the jolt of spark pistons. Stronger than the engine on his customized Ducati. 

Taking few steps backwards, the awaken body convulses as exquisite delirium envelops like turbulent core of the hurricane, lungs burning as he struggles for breaths. Awashed with stream of overflowing pearly white, his body curls as agonizing pounding accompanies. Thunderstruck as he hears the roar of the brazen vault of heaven going at it, racing with his own throbbing and pounding heart, he watches his flushed head become more viscous, his taut abdomen fluttering with sweeping sensation. A freight train running over his frame as groans spasms from his windpipe. 

Feeling his knees buckle as his sun-kissed body contours along with the barrage of the lightening discharge, he gasps, lips curling upward as a towel drapes over his lean waist, languidly gazing the downpour, each droplet becoming stars. Breathing upon the glass fogged up with moisture, fingertip traces a word. Love. Lips silently uttering the word as if he had been learning the concept for the first time. 

Lounging against the bed with a whiskey bottle clutched close, his lips unconsciously hum the beginning part of The Book of Love, the song that would be etched forever onto the creases of his brain. With the beep from his cell, fingers clasp around the screen, eyes traversing to his arm, with Gabi’s phone number still written across from crook of his elbow down to his wrist. 

_[ Unknown ] It’s me, Gabi. So I was thinking, I have two tickets for the Bucharest Opera House. Would you like to go with me?_

With an amused tilt of his head, he grins and watches his reflection off the screen. Carding through his damp hair, he saves the number and finishes humming the song, growing impatient, but he perseveres. _Just fucking wait, a bit more._

_[ darling Gabi ] Are you asking me on a fucking date, darling?_

_Three days. Anything for you, dearest Gabi._

Spending time to give a once-over of his bike, shining it up and purchasing a helmet for her, he gives it a test drive he so longed for, feeling the flapping leather glide across his healed side. An imperceptible smirk dipping his cheek for the whole duration of the ride as he comes back with a suit of his own. Silky smooth fabric, Versace suit with Prada oxfords. The most money he’d ever spent for himself next to his bike. 

Three damn days finally passes as the day passes like the most horrendous series of nightmares. The wait too long, but his face doesn’t show it. Ashen blond hair cupping his facade all the right way as the bowtie drapes over the thick curve of his neck, the tattoo hidden by the collar pressing against his neck. Dark red silk dress shirt tucked in, floating over and accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist, he’s about to fasten the buttons when he hears the knock. Just before rounding the corner as the smile spreads and radiates his face, he subtly clears his throat and takes a fluttering, long exhale. Soulful hazel raises upward to register Gabi’s black and red clad form, the dress accentuating her assets impeccably. _Fucking flawless._

Beaming as he closes in the distance, fingers glide over the sensuous curve of her neck, just above the silver chains. Just like he had anticipated and imagined, it seemed like they had already eloquently spoken about the outfit. Impassioned, it was his silent declaration of his aspiration. “You look fucking beautiful, gorgeous.” A peck over her flawless skin. 

“Why don’t you help me get this fucking bowtie and we’ll be on our way. I can call the limo downstairs.” 

~

 

Moving through Nigel’s flat in sensible heels, no high ridiculous-fall-down-inducing shoes for Gabi, no way. She moved into the bedroom where she knew he would be. Upon seeing him ensconced in black and red, the same as her dress, she let out a little peal of laughter, she was way too elated right now. “We match, what a striking pair we shall be.” Still grinning she looked down at the floor and the bottom of her dress. Never one to feel like she wasn’t pretty enough or beautiful, she felt like a rare gem right now, but seeing him all dressed up, like this… He would outshine anyone in the room, at the Opera house. Crude, sultry, bad tempered, intense, and a terrible potty mouth, but damn was he the most beautiful thing. Some how he made it all work, and she couldn’t help love the whole package. It was its own sort of charming spell that drew you in, and never let you go.

When he moved to touch her every part of her body tingled, alight with sensitive nerve endings. She shivered against him when he spoke his greeting to her. It was as if the words caressed over her body all on their own. Like invisible hands sinking into the pores of her skin. The heat and weight of his gaze burned along her skin like a fiery whiplash.  He was looking her up and down like she wasn’t wearing anything and suddenly she felt naked. The effect he had on her was thunderous. A calm before a storm, that rolling electric energy all focused on her. The ozone thick in the air, enough to choke on. The song [Fever by Peggy Lee](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DX7_k_0dKknA&t=M2I0Njk4MjY2ZmJiOWRhNDAzMjk3MmU5YTI5ZjNjMTJlMGRlOWM4Yyx5aFNucFI1TA%3D%3D) sizzles through her mind, the lyrics, ‘You give me fever, when you kiss me, Fever when you hold me tight…what a lovely way to burn.’ Indeed what a damn lovely way to burn.

Almost sad when he pulled away, but he asked her to help him with his bow tie. She smiled at him, he was entirely too adorable when he wanted to be. Which she thought was probably something she would never tell him. He most likely would not like being called ‘cute’. Moving forward she lifted the collar of his shirt, and adjusted the silky cloth, and affixed it in place. Many years of helping her father dress for important occasions and many trips to the Opera, had prepared her for this moment. “There, now you are as handsome as ever.” After the bow tie was in its place she with her hand still resting on his shoulder ran a thumb across the exposed skin of his neck. She had to tear herself away or they would never make it out of the fucking bedroom. It was agonizing; she just wanted to touch him for a little longer. So enthralled by his beauty, she realized something else he had said. “Wait, you got us a limo?” She was baffled.

Blinking at him like he sprouted two heads, she schooled her features back into something that resembled a proper young lady. As a distraction she opened her tiny little clutch purse, thinking that it was a useless thing. But she wasn’t going to carry a messenger bag into the bloody opera house. Plucking the extra ticket she had just for Nigel, she waved it at him, like it was the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. She offered it up to him, like her soul on a silver platter. The ticket read, [OPERA NATIONALA BUCUREST](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.operanb.ro%2Fen%2Fspectacol%2Fseason2015-2016-don-giovanni%2F2016-02-04&t=NmY4NGI5YTNjNzAxZDI3YzIxYTU1YWJjM2JkMGU0MGFhMjU1YzNhMix5aFNucFI1TA%3D%3D)I : Don Giovanni by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Vienna edition 1788), Performed in Italian with Romanian surtitles.

As if by fate or stars aligned, there could not have been a more fitting opera for them to go see. It almost made her roll her eyes and fall over at the irony. Don Giovanni was a popular opera, about the famous lover Don Juan. An opera about seduction, the power of desire and beauty, and everything in-between. She hoped it was something that would keep his interest; it had action, romance, murder, and revenge. Thinking to herself, she might have a hard time concentrating on the show when Nigel would be sitting next to her. But the music would be well worth it. Getting a chance to spend time with him alone, and at the opera had her so excited she could barely contain herself. At the door, she gave him one more long inspecting gaze, and beamed at him. “Ready when you are.”


	30. Chapter 30

All he could visualize is his spider-like touch, almost imperceptible as the breeze caressing the leaves, barely touching against her flesh and then letting go of all his inhibition to touch every inch of her skin and etching her into a three-dimensional model of his own into the creases of his brain. Despite the light stroking, every nerve tingles as he anticipates the pathway; gliding across the slit of her flowing dress as it reveals the curvature of her voluptuous thighs up to the hips, pushing a fingertip against the intricate lace of the stockings. A slight tilt of his head as he nods in concordance, hazel pools naturally traverse to the tiny ruby drops, accentuating the pronounced and slender clavicle. The teary drops gingerly glimmer like the painted celestial sphere outside, growing flamboyant like the fiery red of his silky shirt, as the color seeps through the flat. As the shades of red slither through to swathe him whole, he becomes the exemplification of the eternally ardor, veiled with sex appeal.

Resisting his urge to press against her by taking a step forward and also feeling like a child in front of the candy store, admiring all the explosion of the senses as he feasts upon the textures running through her. Pressed powder on her face, those fierce lips that match the glimmering heatwave of the scorched road, burning through his coppery skin. The luscious dress flowing and caressing his skin akin to floating on air. Even her redhead burns alight even more with how she carries herself. _Elegant, powerful, graceful_ , she’s the melodious cello tune materialized into an bewitching enchantress, her gaiety and wit have already enraptured him, foreordained him to be grasped into the tight-hold. Always a sucker for physical attachment and preferring the devoid of genuine affection and emotional connection in his young prime life, all the encounters he had experienced with Gabi had been something entirely different. Where the concept of true love exists solely between two people and not the world. Holding sacred in the tomb, in the most hidden pages of his mind. That would prove insurmountable, as his gaze bears the burning daggers, making his own imprints against her skin for him, only for him to see.

As Gabi closes the distance to give him a helping hand with the bow-tie, his fingers wound around her waist, barely gliding as he draws a semi-circular motion. Feigning a coy smile as he reflects the expression back, a hand smooths over the hourglass curve of her hips, as if he couldn’t resist - roses have thorns, but that doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t be drawn to them. Holding such paradoxical meanings - purity and passion, which doesn’t seem to go together for what he hopes to happen. There’s nothing pure about what he wants to do to her - if he could keep his hands away from her during the lengthy opera. _Heavenly perfection and earthly passion,_ like a fucking immortalized goddess who came down to the earth to allure him in an inescapable trap, a sensual spiderweb. The mere thought of it threatens his heart to spread his ribcage apart, his lung squeezed out of air as the blood eagle soars from his back. Never the fan of anything constricting around his neck, the bow-tie is the furthest he’ll go with being impeccably formal. He had thought about purchasing a cummerbund or an embroidered waistcoat with intricate designs, but he settles with a plain, dark gray one instead that will emphasize his reverse triangle torso.

A dangerous sizing up continues, as he walks on a thin thread, about to snap free. Hazel orbs widened, his fiery gaze raises towards the ticket held out to him like a high-profile contract. With a beaming grin stretching and lifting his lips, he leans forward to grab the ticket, intentionally not touching her fingers as he retrieves it with a slow, fluid motion. Sole of his patented oxfords pressing against the floor, he gyrates to turn away from her, looking adjacent to the full-length mirror as he thrusts an arm through the armhole of the waistcoat. Throwing her a few over the shoulder glances and looking through the lashes, he looks over at the ticket and Googles the opera. The main character’s name is strikingly familiar. Perhaps he had seen the movie elsewhere, or it might have been some kind of nickname he had heard some of the girls mention several times.

The revelation strikes his heart as flurries of arrows direct at the muscle. Chin slightly tucked, he cannot help but to raise his eyebrows as he flashes a Mona Lisa smile. The opera itself is just how his life had been unfolded so far - a philander who is never gallant towards those who he had made love to, but never in genuine ways. Most often the act itself had been corrupted and debauched with the prospect of drugs and receiving the services he wanted from those women in exchange of easy money for them. Briefly calling the limousine company to be at their door precisely after five minutes, a hand smooths over the thicker fabric of the waistcoat as a close-lipped smug smirk stretches his dewlap. “We should have enough time to lounge in the limo, popping the fucking champagne before making down to the opera house, yes? Get ourselves loosened up a bit.” Suit jacket tugged on as he grabs his wallet, a hand cups over the smooth jawline, reminiscing the shave Gabi had given him. Fingers steepled against his pressed pants, looking sharper than ever, an arm winds around her back, palm softly pressed against her dimple. _Oh, this night is gonna be the fucking night to remember._

___

Everything happens to fast. With Nigel’s hand on her lower back, she tries to concentrate. Even with the thin fabric of her dress between his skin and hers, she can feel the warmth radiating from his palm. It’s almost too much, and overwhelming. They rush down the stairs, she feels like she is walking on clouds, him guiding her gently. His hand always in its place at the small of her back, and that is just how it feels. Like his hand belongs there, the dimples just the right fit for his palm. _Could it be that they are a perfect fit that they could be made for each other?_

He had not been joking when he said they had an honest to goodness fucking limo. She was blown away, all this for a simple night at the opera. Her skin bristled with warmth and she glowed with excitement. She had never been in a limo before, and getting to do so now with Nigel… Turning slightly in the circle of his arm, she beamed at him. “Really a limo?” It was a rhetorical question; yea she knew there was a mother fucking limo… _but why?_ _Better yet, how… How could he so matter of fact rent a limo for this occasion? It blew her mind, would he really do this just for her?_ Or was he trying to impress her.

Impressed she was, Gabi had always been easy to please. She was simple in the way that she didn’t like drama if she could help it. The small things mattered to her. She didn’t need mindless stupid chit chat, or frivolous gifts showered at her. But she would not pass up a chance to ride in a limo at least once. Nigel just made it worth it. Being with him was what mattered to her. A whole evening with just him, she could have flailed her arms, and rolled on the floor, like she had on her bed. If things went well, they would have a fine night and he would kiss her goodnight, and maybe she would get to have another date with him. A girl could dream, and dream big she did.

Nigel held the door to the limo, and she thanked him with a polite little smirk, he was like some dark brooding prince charming. Climbing into the vehicle she found a seat. Smoothing the back of her dress down so that she could sit and not wrinkle it, she slid over to make room for Nigel. What a day this was turning out to be, it was almost too good to be true. Once he was inside the limo and seated next to her, she could feel all that white hot attention back on her. She shivered involuntarily from that look alone. It held a world of unspoken promises, and desires that she had only dreamed about. Never in her life had she been wooed before. Being asked out on a date by a classmate was one thing, but this was in a league of its own.

When he reached for the champagne to open, she shook her head. Her mind was in a whirl, so much was happening, it didn’t even feel real. “You weren’t kidding when you said about Champagne either. This is very lovely, thank you.” She could feel a blush creep across her cheeks and become shy again. Even dressed up and looking like a million bucks, she was confidant and felt amazing, but he still managed to make her insides do little flip flops and turn her into a shy wilting flower. She wanted to be a smoldering temptress, but how could she be when he did this to her. Taking a deep breath, and letting it out through her mouth slowly, she put on her game face. Sliding closer to Nigel and watched him pour them both a glass each. She now sat close enough that their knees bumped into one another. Feeling a sudden wave of honesty she blurt out randomly. “I’m so glad you agreed to come along, this means a lot to me.”


	31. Chapter 31

With the gold-capped customized revolver pressed against his own sharp curve of the dimple and effectively hidden by layers of fabric, the enthusiastic clicking of the oxfords match his fluttering heartbeat, gradually increasing to become hummingbird’s wings flapping. As if choreographed, the limousine pulls over the front porch of the building as Nigel pushes through the door in a haste. He either goes all the fucking way or does nothing. No women in his life had ever deserved the courtesy he knew he had in his blood. He didn’t act on his manners, because he lacked any of them. His attitude mirrored as how attached he was to his partner emotionally, which meant he wouldn’t pour all of his heart and soul to anyone else but himself. All of his pores exuded with the cologne he had been wearing, as the clinging scent of cigarette did against the silky fabric, along with the renewed breaths - soaring anticipation and the grandeur of the opera. Certainly it wasn’t the first time he’d been to an opera - not with a woman though. All those preposterous agendas of high-end clients boasting to partake in the arts. After all, their means of making money extended to illegally smuggling eighteenth century Dutch paintings to shipments of prostitutes. _What a fucking way to show off and for him, what a way to blow the precious time_. Well, the prospect alone is enough to wipe out all the horrendous recollections of the past.

The gentle, but nippy wind isn’t enough to extinguish and dry the dampening layer of perspiration plastering the silk against his coppery skin. He always appreciated how the lush silk complimented his toned physique, but the only thing he hated more than anything was that he always runs on the hot side. And with three-piece he wasn’t accustomed too constricting his figure, he was bound to sweat a lot more than he used to. Especially next to Gabi as this had been the night he wanted to finally bring her to his house to stay the night. His sun-kissed skin glowing radiant under the sunset as the shades of orange crawls across the impeccably shined black limo, he nods and reciprocates the grin, widening as his head tilts sideways. As much as he wants to wind an arm around her exposed skin and not let his hold part for even a minute stretch of time, he decides against both as he shuts the door behind him, because he doesn’t even want to give her a sliver of hint. _This will knock her fucking socks off for sure._

Legs crossed opposite her legs, his characteristic intensely burning gaze fixates upon her profile before he briefly turns his attention to the driver, before the chauffeur swerves the car around in the direction of the opera house. Whispering few words to him as the driver nods in return, Nigel flashes an appreciative grin, a closed-mouthed one as he reaches for the champagne and two flutes, situated on an ornate tray on the table, already set for them. Some hor d’ourves, a plate each full of pastry puffs with caviar and figs with ricotta, pistachio and honey had been delectably and elegantly plated to emit its savory and dulcet fragrance to dance along the wind.

Windows slightly rolled open, his dexterous fingers pop the cork off, twirling the bottle to pour the rose pink liqueur, watching the effervescent bubbles rise. “Of course I wasn’t fucking joking. I hope you’re not gonna be too bloody overwhelmed with what I’m about to give you.” Pulling out a flat black box adorned with silver lined ribbon, his lips curl and he can’t help but to restrain himself from cupping a hand over her own as the box slides over on her lap. Enthusiastic, his gaze fixates between her face and the lid, hoping she will like the surprise. [A black triangular cashmere shawl ](http://www.neimanmarcus.com/en-kr/Sofia-Cashmere-Whip-Stitch-Fox-Fur-Shawl-Black/prod174080060/p.prod)with the fox fur trim along outside of the garment with asymmetric hem, hitting just above Gabi’s waist. Waiting for her reaction, he feigns the creeping nervousness - an emotion so foreign and rarely experienced - by grabbing a piece of the pastry puff. Food is the last thing on his mind, but he knows he will never get the chance of having anything substantial and his mind will be entirely elsewhere for the duration of the opera.

___

Watching him pour the champagne was delightful; everything he did appeared so effortless. She would never know how he did that. Glasses filled with pale pink bubbles, and effervescing, tingling in the air near their faces. Everything was so magical, and she felt like a damn Disney princess. She had to wonder with a grin, what her story would be like if that were true. Ever thankful for thin fabric and minimal clothes, wearing something so fancy, she always worried about ruining something so nice as her dress. With the air against her skin she didn’t have to worry too much about sweating. If she had a heavy outfit or dress on she would worry. Especially being here with Nigel, he kept a consistent flushed layer on her skin. Even with make up on there was no hiding the blush, it ran from her forehead to her lower body.

Normally Gabi doesn’t bother with perfume on a regular basis. But for special occasions she liked to wear this quirky off brand she found in an odd little shop once. The brand was called Tokyo Milk. The name of the perfume ironically was [Poe’s Tobacco ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.tokyo-milk.com%2Fproducts%2Fpoes-tobacco-no-1-parfum&t=ZTI3MjkwM2ZkOGVkNGYxMzcwY2UxOWZkOTg2N2ZmMzZjYjc5YTc2OCx5aFNucFI1TA%3D%3D), after the famous Edgar Allan Poe. Who was one or her all time favorite poets. There were notes of tea leaves, amber wood, and autumn apples, with a faint hint of tobacco. A nostalgic blend that lingered long after she couldn’t smell it herself, the unique thing about this brand was its layers. Never before she been able to pick out different scents as they each faded slowly. She never knew how they managed to make a scent out of tobacco, but it was one of those odd things that Gabi loved. More than anything she loved the odd things in life, quirky, eclectic, or strange. The underdogs, and rebels, all of those things, she had a kindred spirit connection with. Nigel was all of those things wrapped in a neat human package. The embodiment of the strange and unusual, of the unique, an unexplained enigma, that is Nigel.

With their knees bumping idly against one another, she took a sip of her champagne when it was offered to her, their fingers never once brushed. For once she would swear that she wasn’t the only one playing that game. Of dancing around each other with out touching. It was almost as if they were trying to see who cracked first. Being a virgin, she was going to bet she wouldn’t cave to the pressure first. You can’t miss something you never had. There was no way she was going to admit that right now to Nigel. He would probably pull the limo over and dump her so quickly. It made her slightly self conscious, but not enough to bother her. Nothing would most likely happen in that area anyways. No she wouldn’t let it get to her. But on the off chance things did turn towards that direction, what would she do… Panic most likely. She was sweating nervously all of a sudden.

Setting her glass down on the table in the middle so it didn’t spill, Nigel offered a box out to her. With her head inclined to the side she looked at him in wonder. Overwhelmed with what he was about to give her… his words echoing in her head like gunshots ringing out in the night. Blinking slowly she watched in slight horror as the gift came into focus. “No, Nigel… You didn’t.” Mouth parted a little bit, air escaped her body in a whoosh. All worry about being inexperienced or a virgin completely forgotten. She forgot to breathe, fox fur glide under her fingertips. It was the softest thing she ever felt ever. The black trim of the fur tickled her palm.  Looking up she met his eyes, not overwhelmed, but a little confused. The only thing she managed to say after finally remembering to breathe again was. “I didn’t get you anything…”

Gabi believed in tit for tat, she liked an equality balance in her life. Give and take, she didn’t want a sugar daddy. Gifts were nice, but she wanted things to be fair. He was not playing fair. She didn’t quite feel like she deserved such a fine present. _What had she done to receive this?_ Shaking her head, she couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know what, I did to deserve this, and I don’t know how I can ever repay you.” Running manicured nails through the black fur one more time she smiled. “It’s beautiful.” What she really meant was everything, not just the shawl. He was beautiful, the limo, them dressed up, and they hadn’t even made it to the show yet. Confidently she gave him a sly little look, and whirled the garment around her shoulders and settled it about her self like a cape and hood. Giggled like an idiot she leaned over and head her head on Nigel’s shoulder. “Thank you.” Hiding her face she whispered into the fabric of his suit jacket.


	32. Chapter 32

The night so far unfolds like how he intended. Both of them looking spectacularly glorious and gorgeous than ever, with the explosion of nerves and emotions overwhelming as he drowns in swirling technicolor of them. As he had seen many girls at the club adorned in faux fur, gaudy and fringed at the trims, glitters covering the surface of their skin, some even streaked in bronzer and body makeups, deceptively trying to fool the clients. He had seen too many of them alike and gotten innumerable advances from them. Perhaps they were after the money as their unbridled  All sorts of body makeup covered the girls, some even younger than Gabi, some mostly in their early to mid twenties. their natural allurement drowned with all the vulgarities, with their ostentatiously ornamented garments excessively making them to pop out under equally flashy lights. Exposed V-lines, plunging pubis, everything too skimpy and laid bare. _ Fucking tasteless. _ Even to him, who had been so used to the sight of the liquor flowing and the party, which only could be characterized by endless rounds of vigorous dancing and facetiousness and persiflage from the booths. The establishment’s profit mattered than everything else and however meretricious and greedy those scantily clad young women were getting for the amount of money they could make on one single hectic night, then his morality would be in check. Enabling to affirm that the priceless opportunity he gave them could be unparalleled. 

Gabi’s assets all compacted in cascading flow of ambrosial delight, even her perfume seems to match his own natural cologne, heavy musk, sweat, lingering cigarette smoke. Convincing himself to savor the subtle flavors of pastry and salty caviar nested in a puddle of sweet cream, he could still see her looking like a seductive siren in the back of his closed eyelids. They continue to gaze through his soul, which had been resting in the unfathomable pit, as her presence illuminates deep down. He is sure he’d now have the reputation of being an inscrutable dipsomaniac, drunk with her flesh and scent, his leitmotif becoming the pungent rusty smell of oxidized blood, never washed and often-worn piles of clothing and sheets strewn all over the floor become the concinnous expressions of Gabi’s serenade, particularly pleasing, satisfying and effervescent. The chilled champagne clouding up the surface of the glass, Auspicious clouds hang over them like an aura as every ebb and flow of his heart breathed his ardor.   

The anticipation still buzzing through like an army of wasps circling around his eardrum to buzz, the encroaching burden of sensation isn’t enough to subdue the urge to lengthen the time. Feeling like a wilting thorn bush in dire need of water, he downs the rest of the bubbly down with a long quaff, refilling his flute as soon as he desperately clutches the sweet coldness clinging to the tastebuds. When he does bring his lips close to grope the brim of the glass once again, his shoulders press against the backrest, an arm encircled around the seat, never touching her. He could feel the warmth radiate from her like the growing candlelight, all he could visualize right now is his warm broad palm running through both the delicateness of her skin and the fur, skimming along until all of his veins tingle and spark with uncontrollable rush of desire. “You got me that fucking ticket to the opera, darling. That had been enough.” A grin mirrors the curve of the glass, teeth clinking against the glass as the arm withdraws.  

“It might look fucking expensive, but it didn’t even cost a fucking fortune for me. I simply acted on condign standards.” Perhaps he had gone overboard with paying top dollar in everything, if he was going out of the town then he would do it in an utmost style. Although he didn’t frequent the high socialite life, he could appreciate the life of encasing himself in the most luxurious brands, spoiling his girl and looking like they owned town. “You can repay me by wearing that day and night. Treasure and own it, it’s not like this is gonna be our one and only bloody fucking date anyways.” A grin widening further than the last peek of the sun offering a swirl of broad band of hues to seep into the windows, he brings the arm that had been resting against the seat forward, encasing around her petite frame and nuzzles into her fiery red locks, mindful of not messing them up. 

“You’re welcome.” A hand smoothing the curve of her shoulder, down to the arm, the limousine halts with an unnoticeable step of the brake. As the opera house nears, all the soft orange glows of the streetlight and from the building aglow inside, the large throng of people gather in front of the grounds as all the fancy vehicles with chauffeurs line the bustling street. Comporting to his most utmost courtesy, he pecks a soft, chaste kiss on her cheek before withdrawing his arm, smoothly getting off to round the corner of the limo, opening the door for her to extend a hand. However implausible he thinks upon his demeanor, the conundrum of this reduces down to the simple fact.  _ He’s fucking head over heels for this girl he had barely known, yet comprehends so much through exchange of their souls, through their unspoken bonds.  _

___

Faintly she can see street lights passing by through the tinted glass. Still resting her head lightly on Nigel’s shoulder, she smiles at his words. He asked her to treasure the shawl, and own it, but more importantly. This would not be their only date. “I will cherish it.” She whispered back, and then bit the inside of her cheek lightly. She had to keep herself from making high pitched noises of excitement. Always one to hide her feelings and emotions for the most part, something was different. When she was with Nigel, she couldn’t keep her icy, almost aloof composure. Maybe she was finally learning to let her hair down a little, so to speak. Always being the perfect daddy’s girl came with limitations. With Nigel she felt alive, like she was living at last, and had been asleep for years, a dormant volcano.

Like flashes of an after image, she feels as if this were happening to someone else. The brush of his hand on her shoulder, on her arm, the light peck on the cheek. Only faintly she is aware these things are happening, but she would remember it clearly. Later when she wasn’t running on adrenaline and excitement, she would remember every little detail. The limo slowed to a halt, and again Nigel was opening the door for her. Everything slowed down, like a freeze frame. Just how when she played her cello, she only had senses for her music alone. Now with this man, it was just him and her. All else fell away, to be white noise in the background. No mind was paid for any thing other then what was happening to Nigel and her.

Shawl proudly about her shoulders, she hooks a long slender arm through his. Linked arm and arm with Nigel, she lifts her chin, and straightens her back. The confidence that she exudes when creating music, filled her lungs. It flowed through her veins, like a really good energy drink. They say that red bull gives with wings, and right now she might have believed it. With Nigel on her arm, they were unstoppable, and she felt like she could do anything. They could take on the world for all she cared. Nothing would hold her back, not tonight. This was her element, she practically grew up here. So she led the way through the throngs of elegantly dressed people. Not one face stood out to her. If she had been mugged right then and there, she wouldn’t be able to recall a face other than Nigel’s. And on that note, she was pretty sure; anyone who tried to mug her would meet a terrible fate, courtesy of her date.

With a quirk of lips, she gives him a few subtle glances every so often. Making their way into the grand lobby, and then the foyer, she spares a look to the beautiful ceiling once, before turning her attention back to their destination. With their tickets already, they bypass any need to wait in lines. As a general rule it is best to arrive at the opera, at least thirty minutes before the start of your show. They happen to be almost exactly thirty minutes and some change on time, with some to spare. This pleased Gabi, as being late to a show at the opera was a huge no-no. If you were late, they often made you wait until intermission to be seated, as to not interrupt other attendees.

After their tickets are checked, and they are shown to their seats to wait, she leans in and explains to Nigel. “See as someone who grew up around this my whole life. I have learned the best place to sit, for any reason I wish to view a show. For the best sound, the third floor, high balcony is preferred, and that is normally my main choice. For the best view the main area is the most common choice, and if you come to be seen, well that is when you choose an opera box.” She pointed up to one of the private balcony boxes. Their seats were in the central area of the main. She had forgone her usual seating for the view. She wanted Nigel to be able to see everything. The costumes, the actors, and set and colorful props, it was something she wanted to share with him. It spoke volumes that she would pass up the best place to hear the orchestra so that Nigel would have the best time. Finally in their seats, she leafed through the playbill. Everything in it was something she knew by heart, but she needed something to do with her hands. Spying the dos and don’ts section of the pamphlet, she saw one that caught her eye. With a snort she, showed Nigel.” It says, that couples, shouldn’t bow their heads together, because it blocks the view of those, behind.” She couldn’t keep the grin off her face. 


	33. Chapter 33

The usually cold muzzle of the revolver presses tightly against the pivot of his spine as a whip of sweat licks along the crevice of his defined back muscles, all the neutrons of natural electricity buzzes and wires. Feeling like an agitated bee, about to release sting as the skin pulls at all directions, signalling the imminent fate. Letting down his guard is extremely difficult for him; not only he had to be alert and be vigilant at the establishment, inside the club and wherever he ended up to retrieve unsanctioned procurement, the appurtenances of work bled so much into his personal life to affect his demeanor that he had been always tense in mind. After all, he only had acquaintances and enemies. Nothing too intimate and deep to call it genuine and foregoing relationships. Although he had masked the uneasiness with his outwardly flaunting and crass attitude, being assertive and taking no shits from anyone except himself, it’s as if the gun had disintegrated into his subconscious. As if he had been transformed into someone else, like a teenager who had been infatuated with the crush of his life. 

Among innumerable throngs of people passing by, dressed impeccably for the big night at the opera, their presence shines the most, the most luminous pair of stars coming to merge in a stellar collision. As the methodically illuminated ionic columns close in the distance, the crisp and chilled air sweeps through him like a gently beating ripples of the sea, the orange glow glimmering across his chiseled features. The composite view of the building, the carved marble accentuated by the contour of the penumbra, looms over him as shoulders occasionally brush. Sophisticated leaves and floral patterns decorating the capital, he feels like the champion who has a wreath of olive tree, the most honored Olympian who walks among the revering crowds of people. Trying his best to match the short rhythmic click of Gabi’s heels, his lengthened strides turn into a sauntering swagger. The caress of fox fur against his taut arm feels sublime, as if they are walking through the temple, dedicated to them. The materialization of god and goddess. Perhaps he was Pygmalion, who had fallen in love with the idealized version of his ivory statue. As if the shawl had completed the look he had striven for. 

He could appreciate every element he didn’t give a sliver of his eye to, as stark contrasting and elaborate gliding of red and gold of the spherical ceiling pops out like the window of the soul, looking down at him from above. The trompe l’oeil drawing him in more, adding onto the heavenly sensation. The opera house itself becomes the embodiment of his pensive, full of confetti, more of the pleasurable thoughts to overwhelm his nerves as he admits the fact that he was obsessed with her now. Utterly, willingly and wonderfully so. There was no fucking denying it. All of his carefully built fortified walls crumbling down when he was with her. Even closed, he felt raw and naked - surges of unadulterated emotions drowning him as his veins become lightning and his heartbeat becomes thunder, amalgamating to become most destructive storms. There was a reason why storms were named after people.  

A hand, both the gesture of protectiveness and possessiveness doesn’t leave her waist at all times, as they go through the usual process. Hazel pools glimmer as they contain all the celestial golden glows radiating the vastness of the dome. “I would’ve never considered that. All I have fucking endured is being inside the opera box with two of the most obnoxious fuckers who I have to pay most utmost care to, they don’t know a single bloody thing, an ‘o’ from opera at all and had told me where they have taken me is the best fucking seat where you can ‘immerse oneself to fully appreciate the opera.’” Pressing his side against hers, a finger unfastens the buttons on the suit jacket, suddenly finding himself running hot again. Slipping off his waistcoat, he tugs on the jacket back on with the thick fabric slung loosely around the crook of his elbow.

Finally seated with his legs crossed, it is indeed the prime view, where he can effortlessly take in all the views of the stage along with the orchestra in front. The instruments set, the amphitheater swarming with enthusiastic groups of people, chatting and exchanging their knowledge about this particular play. He catches tidbits from here and there, how the main character had been a seductive libertine, who had been simply irresistible. Thankfully, no one is awful enough to reveal the ending, as he catches a few people behind talking how this particular one had been their second time. The waistcoat draped over her knees, he chuckles as fingers card through the pricking lock on the bridge of his nose, tilting his chin upward as gently curved lips stretch. “I thought it was gonna be more like ‘don’t fuck around with your cell phone or flash the fucking camera at the actors, that sort of thing.” Taking the playbill in his hand and setting it on his lap, he cups a hand over hers, bringing it over to his knee. “I think people in our back wouldn’t give a fuck, if they’re seeing the opera for the second time.” A mischievous, more devious grin dips his cheek as his crossed leg switches position, giving her leg a playful glide. 

___

Laughing she can’t help but to shake her head at the mention of the rules in the playbill, and what they ‘should’ to be. Oh did he ever have a way with words. Colorful some would call it, trashy some others might say. And she was willing to bet, never to his face with out being on the receiving end of a knuckle sandwich. To her, he was perfect, she wouldn’t change a thing. He was everything she wished she could be. Being with him was like living vicariously through him. What she would have loved to be able to move through life with out giving a flying fuck, and to tell people where to get off, and do anything she wanted. He reminded her of a pirate in that way, they were the only truly free people. Only answering to themselves, doing as they pleased. It had a great appeal to her; she always played by the rules. She had to wonder what it would be like to be a bad girl.

Her bonfire heart longed for freedom, and the fire of Nigel’s soul called out to her like the fucking Phantom of the Opera. How entirely too fitting, that they should find themselves at the opera also. When he takes her hand, she is snapped out of reverie, suddenly, finally all to aware of her surroundings. Staring star struck at their hands, at the movement as he places her hand on his knee. His words barely register. For a few seconds her ears are ringing. When his leg brushed against hers briefly, she is deaf. A cold sweat breaks out all over her body. It’s way to warm in here. Right now she wanted to fan herself, a trickle of sweat slides down the small of her back. Good god she needed a drink right now. Her mouth felt like the Sahara desert. Not daring to move her hand from its place upon his knee, she shoulders off her shawl. With one hand she gathers it in her lap, folding it over itself neatly.

Air at last, the shock of it, is overwhelming. She tried desperately not to show outwardly how rigid and awkward she felt right now. Like a wood doll, she couldn’t move, wouldn’t move. It was like her whole arm had locked in place. She needed a distraction. So she concentrated on anything but where her hand was. Letting the sights and sounds of the opera house fill her mind, she soaked it all in. At last she swept her eyes over the orchestra admiring from afar, and picking out different instruments and which would play her favorite arias. All of that hard won confidence she had exuded on her way into the opera house had slipped away so quickly. It was like it had been a figment of her imagination. Some day she wished to be able to be like that, all of the time. It would take work, but some day, she hoped to be on the same level as Nigel.

Glancing around she watched the other couples, she wanted to see what they were doing. She wondered what their lives where like to be married, or dating someone long term. Did the two wore matching colors come here often? What would it be like to date Nigel… Her mind stuttered at the thought. He had said they would have more than one date, but it suddenly dawned on her. That there would be more days like this for them. Everything that was involved with dating, and romance, floated through her mind, like boats ferrying the dead to the underworld. One thing stood out to her, that most, if not all the other couples were nearly the same age. Glancing at Nigel she realized that he was a great deal older than herself. She was not on a date with a classmate or someone her age; she couldn’t get away with being innocent and naive.

Horror stuck her at the core.  _ What if he wanted to have sex, what if he expected sex from her? What if he thought he would get some because he gave her a gift? _ Her over active imagination was suddenly working in overdrive. It was hard to breathe, like she couldn’t get enough air. She needed to get up, and move or something, anything. “Eh, Um…” She cleared her tight throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the ladies room.” With that she got up quickly, pulling away and hastily jostled her way back out the way they came. She asked an attendant where the restroom was. They pointed it out to her, and she dashed inside clutching the shawl in her hands like a lifeline. Safely inside the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were too wide; she looked like a deer in headlights. Draping the shawl back around her shoulders she let it droop, but it stayed hooked on her arms. Leaning both hands on the sink she turned on the cold water. There was no way she could splash any on her face with out ruining her make-up. So she wadded a few paper towels up and soaked them in the running water. Damp enough, she rung it out, and then patted it again her neck. “What are you doing Gabriella?” She muttered to her own reflection. 


	34. Chapter 34

A sly chuckle lifting his chest closer to the silky fabric, he takes in her like the camera does it through the viewfinder. When he really falls into an unfathomable well of love, he really plunges and sinks and stays there. Nothing in between for him, the shades in between simply don’t exist. Taking in all of her profile, the minutest traces of sheen from her porcelain skin, every inch of pores and ounce of her reaction underneath the makeup and how literally she owns the shawl like it had belonged to her long before he met her. 

The foreign concept of nervousness and uneasiness that accompanied him since coming face-to-face with the dress caressing her form, he tips his chin, feeling the dewlap stretch over the angular jawline as he takes a deep exhale. Behind half-closed lids, he sees a swirl of glitter, moving concurrently with the aqua-like pattern of the ectoplasm of clouds. The musical composition comes to life as thick luscious impasto-ed brushstrokes, deep resonant sounds materializing into them. Soft, plucking and upbeat sounds becoming the washed foams of the waves, kissing over the luscious sands along the beach like how it’d caress his own skin, permeating through the very atmosphere around him, wrapping akin to his preexisting aura. 

He’s courteous and conformed enough to play by some of the rules; most of the times, he acted at his discretion, seeing how he fit and at his own pleasure. Just as killing had been the most pleasurable thing he had came across. As a vagabond, traveling all over in search of what he could call it a temporary home. Bucharest would be where he would settle for good. Although it didn’t make much sense at times. Full of both sophisticated and riots. Called Little Paris, a city of cultural nourishment and full of underground activities he once had been - and still - a huge part of, underneath the gruff exterior and indifferent nonchalance of his carefully constructed facade, everything to him had been a dissemblance and his own personality had been built on lies, dualism and perfidiousness. No one would ever come close enough to know the unquenchable fire burning inside of him, brimming with impassioned desires and longing for intimacy, an endless search to find the significant other who he could sacrifice his whole, everything to. Then there was an outwardly sangfroid coldness. The muzzle of the gun and his knuckles would be the first to breach the personal space than his words. Raptor-like gaze and equally predatory in his stance, certainly, he wasn’t the most vehement in strength and his body more on the leaner side, he strikes like a black panther with a feline grace, much more graceful and seductive in his movements even when he’s fighting it out. 

Full of false profession and duplicity, he would be lying off his ass if he admitted that the switch back and forth had been immensely stressful. Especially at work, he was all cross and business. Like a soaring eagle, he had to be flawless and had to not leave any stone unturned. The growing weariness left him in a paroxysm even further, especially after he had been ambushed such as this. Like positive and negative charged protons and neurons on a copper plate, the map of veins dancing beneath the surface continues to move around like a gently beating waves. Perhaps it was an effective way to assuage the growing desire, to mask how he feels about here there and then. His unnoticed sides surfacing from the ocean of what he is capable of doing - so deep and full of undiscovered personas. But people only sees his surface and graze, thinking that’s all that’s left off him. 

He, who never regretted anything, both fortuitous and calamitous, was now starting to doubt every action. Under the cobweb of her sheer skin, the disarming curiosity drowns him as the melted wax harden instantly. Her posture stiff, uneasy, incredibly out of whack. Perhaps he had gone overboard. Blurted out too much things at once. “Uh.. Yeah, sure, why the fuck not, go right ahead.” Another foreign concept, panic, slowly rises to the brim of his conscious mind, but recedes back rapidly when he stares Gabi’s form leaving him, then his eyes fixate on the clutch bag gingerly set along with his own waistcoat. Calloused tips of his slender fingers raking through his falling locks, the moisture from the back of his neckline damp against the dry skin.  _ Get your fucking facts straight, Nigel. She’s not some kind of a prey you hunt. Don’t make the fucking same mistake over and over again.  _ His mind briefly wonders if he should follow her or better, do the same and clear his head, but he decides against it, as his head tips back to stare at the swallowing whirl of the clouds over his head, coalescing into his consciousness.

___

In the bathroom, settled down from her panic, she realizes she was over reacting. Nothing had even happen yet, even if it did. She had no plans to stay a virgin, in fact if she was to sleep with anyone, at all. Nigel would be the number one candidate. Taking a deep breath in through her nose and then letting it out through her mouth. She shouldered the beautiful shawl once more. Squaring her shoulders, and standing tall, she set her features into what some would call ‘resting bitch face’. With one more last look in the mirror, she noticed she looked like a femme fatale from a spy movie, or a bond girl. That was all the encouragement she needed to go back out there. She was not going to over react again, and whatever happens would naturally. A rolling stone gathers no moss, so she would roll with whatever happens.

Gliding with haste back to her seat before the show starts. Moving past other attendees, she weaves in between to get back to her seat. Nearing closer to where Nigel sat waiting she admired the color of his hair, and the line of his neck. She swallowed, a smile spreading across her lips. By the time she reached her seat she was grinning from ear to ear. With as much grace as she could muster, she kissed him on the cheek as she lowered herself into her seat. No she would gladly let Nigel to anything he wished to her. There was nothing she could say no to him about. She was fully under his spell. “Sorry about that, it was an emergency.” She gave him a warm smirk. No right here, right now was what mattered. There was no where else she wanted to be right now, but beside Nigel.

Just in the nick of time she made it back to her seat. The lights dim, and the stage lights come up. The curtain is drawn back. The scene is set, all the world is a stage, And all the men and women merely players. A famous quote by Shakespeare, it had never been more true than now. With the actors in their roles in the show, so to Gabi and Nigel were playing their roles.  _ What would be the outcome of their opera? _ She could only wonder. Giving Nigel a side long look, she was still smiling. “I hope you enjoy this.” she whispers. Just the sight of him, made her heart soar. Everything began and ended in those eyes. That was it, this confirmed everything to her. She was in love with him. It was scary and thrilling, she barely knew him, yet it didn’t seem to matter. She certainly didn’t care if she didn’t know him that well right now, she was all to willing to learn everything about him.  _ Was there such a thing as love at first sight? Was that what this was?  _ She thought that was something that only happen in fairy tales.

Taking his hand she slipped her palm against his. Being close to him was like basking in the warm sun. When she was away from him, it was cold, and the light left from her world. Everything was more colorful and more brilliant when she was with Nigel. She focused her attention on the music; the sounds of the orchestra filled her ears. Each instrument she plucks out of the air, their solo voices speaking to her in their own turn.  When the overture begins, it is a rumbling D minor, tempo. Then followed close behind by a small misterioso sequence. This leads into an optimistic D Major allegro. The music is the best experience for her; she could close her eyes and enjoy the opera, just by the sound alone. In the past, she had done so as a game with her father, they would close their eyes, and just let the music do all the talking. They say when words fail music speaks.

Isn’t that just how she had hooked her fish? There had been no words to draw her shark in; it was her music that had baited him. The music soared into the roof of the opera house; she laid her head back for a few minutes to listen to song, and nothing else. Looking back to the stage, she tried to enjoy the show how others might. She wanted to experience the opera with Nigel. To watch it through his eyes, hoping that he enjoyed it;  _ did his heart hammer in his chest when the bass drum rang out? _ It resonated through her bones. Leaning closer she let her shoulder bump into his, she would do her best not to stare at his face. She wanted to see all of his reactions. To watch the opera lights dance across his features. She couldn’t wait until intermission so she could ask him what he thought so far. She wanted to hear everything he had to say. Right now she didn’t want to speak to loudly. So she waited… her thoughts wandered to what this all could possibly mean.  _ Nigel and her dating, was it likely?   _ His age didn’t bother her at all, she thought it might, but she realized it didn’t. If anything it made him more alluring, it meant he had stories to tell, and lots of experience, she hoped she didn’t disappoint him. 


	35. Chapter 35

Receding to the comfortableness of the stark red chair and orbs fixated on the velvety burgundy of the curtain, he plucks himself off from the reverie of his pensiveness, grounding himself at the moment. Right now, in the main floor of the opera house, the prime seat for the viewing. The orchestra members situate in their designated seats, tuning their instruments and giving a snippet of what is to be expected soon. Always a sucker for an unknown, seeking for adventures and freedom. He had wandered far too beyond, defying his urge to come home to. If there ever was a place to call home, this was it. The grueling days he had spent, immobile and adhered to the bed with nothing else to cling onto, beside the emotionally charged serenade played for him as he plucked himself off from foregoing a predicament of depression, self-blame and regretting what could’ve happened instead of what did. This was his moment, all the safe haven he would retreat himself upon. Once again, Gabi had volunteered to be his companion to lead into that place, the inner sanctum where he would be free from the confinement and categorization of what he ‘must’ be. As a criminal mastermind, an owner of an establishment, a notorious drug lord, a king risen from the gutter. 

Clutching one lit candle, which continues to flicker and dance restlessly akin to those of ballerina’s feet, the grip tighter than ever as palpitations of his heart matches its impulsiveness and energy. It’s one and only thing that fuels all of his body, the incandescent light seeping through all the veins and blood coursing through them. This is as simple as it gets; without all the conundrums and labyrinthine path of his tumultuous life, he got injured, he risked his own damn life to meet the person, a healing angel who had saved his life. They met in person to person, he escaped what it could have been a foreseen death once again. He felt good, like him having bitch slapped death in his fucking face for good. No, he would be in excruciating pain and would feel every contusion and livid bruises tainting the skin and he would have innumerable scars, some invisible, some affecting his span of life like the very one which linked him to Gabi in an unbreakable bond.   

She comes back akin to a spring zephyr of early March and her burning kiss on his cheek carves a niche across the jawbone. Straining to pick up the parting hinge of his angular jaw as he reciprocates the visage, he gives an approving nod. “Of course, darling. Not a problem at all.” All the muddiness and bleary doubts clear up as a hand strokes over hers. Grounding himself in the moment, all the bustling noises, mostly signs of enthusiasm as the hour nears, draws back behind the curtain of the recess of his mind. Elbow perched on the armrest, he flips his hand over to place underneath hers, lacing the fingers to give it a gentle squeeze as the curtain draws back. Chin tugged back, he gives a tight-lipped smile, eyes creasing and beaming with anticipation. “Oh, I’m fucking sure I will.” He responds as his hips push forward, taking his usual slouched form as the overture begins. 

The composition itself is making his form, an imago, to be freed from his own chrysalis. Gabi had mended the crack in it already. The opera itself is an embodiment of his life, compacted into two hours of grandiose of the echoing notes and highs and lows of sopranos and tenors. A sonorous and restorative quality, embracing him until he breaks out to transform into something entirely unexpected. They had already exchanged silent words, without ever talking. Exchange of electric currents. He lets the composite amalgamation of whirling instruments do the talking, their shared rhythms and how their bodies feel attuned according to the music. The maps of his veins flutter along with the candlelight glowing according to the climactic increase of surging emotions, like a kiln incinerating to make the most delectable piece of china. 

The scene playing out means little to him. Only the cameo to the whole plot unfolding through the notes on the music sheets. So does him not being able to read the notes like experts renders insignificant. It’s the unmistakable familiarity of the healing powers that lick through his spine. The tingling sensation sweeping through his side and he can almost feel the flesh respond it too. The music taking the form of the wildfire, it whirls between his broad form and the air sweeps across his crossed legs as he enraptures into it, deeper and deeper. His thumb glides across her hand, the fluttering veins, his thumping heart to match the intensity of the assonance. The usual fierceness and intensity entrapped behind the closed eyelids, he wishes his carnality and corporeality do the talking. Shoulders bumped, his head at an angle, pressing against hers.    

___

All through the first act they sat huddled together like rabbits. Despite what it said in the playbill about not doing so. Rules be damned, she couldn’t give a rats ass right now about rules. The bush of his thumb across the back of her hand had sent sparks through her whole mass, hard wired to her lower body. It sent a blush across her face, it was awkward to be turned on by such a small caress, it was seemingly innocent, but it did not feel innocent. In fact it felt obscene, like he was caressing other parts, lower parts. It gave her goose bumps. Her mind kept throwing flashes of their shared kiss at her. Daydreams about going farther then they had. Gathering her mind out of the gutter just as the lights came back up. It would now be intermission.

She shuddered like waking from a dream, or a dog shaking off water. Immediately she pulled away from Nigel, feeling like she got caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to do.  She looked down at their hands still linked together, and smiled to herself. This felt right, like they were supposed to be together. His hand enveloped hers perfectly. “We should have enough time to get a drink, they have a café, and well we have VIP tickets so you have access to the bar also.” She needed a drink, her mouth was dry, and she would like to stretch her legs. Getting up to stand, she chuckled, scooping up her clutch purse, and pulling him by the hand towards the VIP area.  The VIP tickets were due in part that her father and her attended the opera so often, that it benefited them to have a season pass sort of set up.

Making her way to the bar, she stopped at the counter, and smiled enthusiastically at the bartender. She ordered a glass of ice water, and while Nigel ordered his own drink. She looked around the space, at the different attendees, and people, everyone dressed differently. Noticing they stood out spectacularly in their matching red and black, she grinned. Beaming with pride she stood closer to him, soaking up his warmth, and reveled in their glory. They made such a handsome couple, Nigel with his sleek striking figure, and carved marble like face. Her with her flaming red hair, and porcelain skin. Looking down their fingered were still entwined, they hadn’t let go since she had taken his hand at the start of the show.

Accepting her glass of ice water, she took a large drink, letting the ice press up against her lips, and the water cleanses her mouth. It was refreshing, and just what she needed. “What do you think of the show so far?” She asked Nigel, and bit her lip in anticipation of his reply. Don Giovanni the promiscuous nobleman and main character was based loosely on the famed figure of Don Juan. A Casanova through and through, and the opera opens up with a murder. A fascinating and intriguing show, mixed with a little bit of comedy. She knew also, having seen this show once before long ago, that there were a few supernatural bits. Talking ghosts like Hamlet, and the like. They had at least fifteen minutes before they needed to be in their seats. She was enjoying the change of pace.

Hearing her name being called, she turned around. She saw a class mate and sometimes acquaintance, who was with her family. Slowly, and reluctantly she let go of Nigel’s hand to go greet her class mate. “Hi Anna, how are you?” she asked her. The girl greeted her with a smile and replied. “I’m well; I didn’t know that you visited the opera Gabi. Why didn’t you tell me we should come together sometime?” Nodding she added, “I often frequent the opera with my father, since he is a music teacher.” In was something she was very passionate about. Anna’s father came up along side his daughter and motioned to Nigel. He was just behind and at her right shoulder still by the bar. Taking small sip of water, Anna’s dad asked. “Is that your father then? Aren’t you going to introduce us Anna?” Gabi choked on her water, it went down the wrong tube. Nigel her father? Oh fuck…


	36. Chapter 36

Despite the blinding flashes and fluttering of the veins, his mind clicks flawlessly into the flow of the music, like riding the wave on the surfboard. He doesn’t dare defy the grandiose, soaring highs and lows, becoming a flurry of cascading arrows, each note bleeding into his heart. Half-shut gaze wraps around her form, every hue and subtle changes taken into the consideration. A tint of her rosy cheeks, her usually heavy makeup rendered down a notch. The lips to match the stark teardrops and sheer cobweb-like lace. The jet-black eyeliner arched up like a mesmerizing feline cat. It’s a literal feast of senses as it feels too overwhelming at times. Paying half-attention to the act itself, but maintaining enough attentiveness to take in the plot, the viewfinder of his soulful hazel focuses onto Gabi’s face, taking in all of her expressions. Too much options to gormandize. Having googled it earlier, he had scraped the surface enough to know what the act had been about; attempted rape, the art of seduction, murder, vengeance and action, to sum up, technically all the debaucheries he had witnessed and have partaken in the acts himself. The very attempt of deceiving his own treacherous body and mind reels, projected in front of him along with her whole feature.

The end of first act feels as if he had been plucked off from the molasses, the thick residue of the sensation still clinging onto his form in a form of rising heat and hammering of his heart. Aware of his assets, the flaunting swagger, the form-fitting clothes, his natural cologne, the alluring charm of a bad-boy topped with his typical drawl, in low and husky voice that fails to enunciate at times. Provocative without effort. Six feet of feline gracefulness with a come-hither look like a serpent about to turn anyone into a crumble of stone. Without being a make-believe, his egotistical ways are one of the means for him to fictitiously depict himself to mold into the conformity. One outward layer many people witnessed through his oozing confidence and gruff exterior.       

As Donna Elvira had recognized Don Giovanni as her former lover, Gabi had most likely registered his true intent - how he had used such chaste and affectionate gesture, the entwining of their hands to begin his seductive arts, reflecting Giovanni’s unfaithful conquests of women in the play. There’s no denying that he was a chick magnet; it’s not like he had sensed more than a few glances along the way, zipping through the attendees. He only has to write one true sentence to her. No amount of flowery words or addendum will be necessary. The luxurious and unexpected gift had been the most authentic - honest-to-goodness than any other act he had committed. All the tropes he had come across, chicanery and double-crossing his clients to make them ‘disappear’ along with Darko. He could literally feel the warmth of blood drip onto the webs of his fingers and along the knuckles, along with the faint smoke of gunpowder and oil residue on the fingertips. The clanking of the bullet casing on the floor, tipping and echoing inside his skull as if the bullet itself had been ricocheting off from it. All he hopes for Gabi to know is his actions had been the most sincere, coming directly from heart to heart. He was sure she would’ve been able to feel his palpitating heartbeat all along.

Draping the waistcoat over his arm and another one continuing to link with Gabi’s, he pushes himself off the seat and stretches his neck, a hand cupped over his jaw. “About fucking time, I do need a bloody drink as well as a smoke.” The light from the chandelier giving him a coppery glow along with the lopsided smirk on his lips, he follows suit and orders two fingers of whiskey without rocks. With a grateful nod, he accepts the drink and tilts his head back, throwing his head to quaff down the whole drink as the familiar burn both soothes and kindles more heat. “I see the fucking appeal, the reason why you have chosen this particular opera. Makes me to think about my unbridled twenties.” A knowing smirk lifts dips his cheek as he gestures for one more shot. “I’ve been a smooth operator for many years when I didn’t have a concept of love nor believed in any of the fairy tale, all made-up shit about falling in love at the first sight. Now I’m not so fucking sure anymore.”  

Leaving Gabi to greet with her and perching himself against the counter, he exchanges a few banter, the bow-tie loosening up with a tug. Enough trying to fit into conformity of things. “Your partner’s very beautiful.” The bartender pushes a generous amount of liqueur along with a cosmopolitan. “Isn’t she? She’s my girlfriend.” Throwing an appreciative grin as fingers close around the stem of the glass, he idly strokes over the base, watching the equally vivid red contrasted with the tartness of the fresh lime slice poised onto the brim like a setting sun over the horizon. Keeping an ear on the ground, feigning inattentiveness, he eavesdrops into the conversation and can’t help his penetrative hazel turn into sharp daggers. He has heard all the fucking intolerable words, but being Gabi’s father topped anything else all insolent. With a pivot of his hips, he turns a balletic turn, apparent fury visualized by the sloshing cosmo, threatening to brim over and spill. Downturned lips, the veins throb as sliver of restraint he had been holding break, the realization that he’s only thirty-five, not even fucking married once and Gabi had been the only ‘girlfriend’ material that ever came across his days of intemperance. “Who the fuck is a bloody narrow-minded and moronic enough to dare fucking address me as Gabi’s father?” Unblinking orbs burn through the man who he can make out as Anna’s father as fingers curl into a tight fist. Jaw clenched, he feels the chords stand out on the neck, face flushing into a color of the heated copper. “I’m Gabi’s fucking boyfriend.” He snarls, like the black panther about to snap the prey’s neck. 

_____

Recovering from her choking fit she stared mouth agape at Anna’s father. Fucking gross, had he really just called Nigel her father? That was the last thing she wanted to think about right now. Besides, he wasn’t that old, and he was way too beautiful to be her father. Shaking her head, she was about to adamantly reply, NO. When Nigel was at her elbow looking like some apex predator. The fury that pours off him in waves was like molten lava. It was a scorching, searing heat, that scared her, but at the same time, she could understand the anger behind it. She hadn’t seen him like this before; she had always had a sense that he was the volcanic type. Dormant until he blew a gasket, but seeing it and having an idea are clearly two different things.

Eyes darting back and forth from Nigel, to Anna’s father, she senses a possible fight breaking out. She had no time to register his words fully, right now her main goal was to defuse the situation, and not get them kicked out of the opera. She would never be able to live with herself if that happened. Speaking way to quickly and slightly high pitched she told Anna. “Ahh, ha… well it was nice to see you, but we have to go now, back to our seats, I’ll see you at school.”  In a rush she plopped her glass of water down on the bar, and turned to Nigel. With both hands planted on Nigel’s back, her clutch purse under her arm, she was gently steering him in the direction of the door. She didn’t even look back. And getting Nigel to leave wasn’t so easy; he was quick to look for a fight. Once they were a few paces away from the door, she took his hand. Ushering him out of the VIP lounge.

Once out the door, she made beeline for the exit out of the lobby outside where the smoking section was. She felt like she was dragging an errant dog on a leash, it made her laugh. When he gave her a strange look she told him. “Well, that escalated quickly. I figured you could use a smoke.” Shaking her head, her mind was doing back flips replaying the scene over in her head, and what could have been a disaster. She watched him smoke, he was still irritated, and it worried her. She didn’t want this to ruin their night; it had been going so well, until some asshole had to kill the mood. It pissed her off, but she wasn’t going to let it get to her, not right now. It was breezy, and she wrapped the shawl more closely around her shoulders. “I’m sorry about that.” She felt guilty and didn’t know why. She would worry about it later.

Standing outside she looked up at the sky, it was getting dark, and they needed to get back inside before the show started again. Realization struck her; Nigel had called her his girlfriend. Suddenly her ears were ringing. She looked at him with wide eyes, a strange feeling came over her, and woke something inside she didn’t have a name for. The second he put out his cigarette she was on him, she kissed him. Bad mood, and assholes be damned, she wasn’t going to let them ruin this, not this. She was having to much fun, and she wanted to have Nigel walk away from this night in a good mood, both hands placed behind his head, she kissed him hard, pulling away with a wild look in her eyes, she grabbed his hand, and yanked him back inside.

Walking fast she guided them back to their seats, she didn’t want to miss the rest of the show, but at the same time, she needed to sit, her legs felt like jelly.  When Nigel was sitting, she straddled his lap, the skirt of her dress riding up, from the slit in the side. She couldn’t help herself, he drove her fucking crazy. Kissing him again, she carded her fingers through his hair. It didn’t matter where she was right now; she wanted to drink his fury down. Take it away and throw it over her shoulder, nothing mattered but this. What a spell she was under to be able to forget her surroundings so completely, when some attendee shouted at them to get a room, she pulled away laughing. She promptly gave the person the middle finger, and went back to kissing Nigel. It wasn’t until the lights dimmed that she snapped back to reality, with a groan she pulled away, and flopped back down into her own seat. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she couldn’t keep the grin off her face. She was panting lightly and she was running on adrenaline, the thrill of it was a high, as good as any drug, and it was called Nigel.


	37. Chapter 37

All 100,000 miles of veins in his body flutter as the thundering lightning makes his skin to imperceptibly twitch, he regards the other man with a scowl of his nose, incinerating hazel narrowed.  _ How fucking dare you to mock me like that and why do you even fucking exist? _ If it wasn’t the goddamn opera house, he would’ve long before lashed out and drawn blood. A plastered-on smile awkwardly tilts his lips as lips thin, teeth bared briefly to purse them together. The bow-tie inside his left pocket, along with the waistcoat drooped over his arm rumples further with his iron-grip and tense limb, nails digging into his palm.  _ Keep your fucking cool _ . As much as he doesn’t give a goddamn fuck about the location, this is the last place to do that. Penetrative eyes still locked against Anna’s father, he huffs, letting out steam like an angry bull, face contorting in a manner showing contempt for the other. 

Trying to quench the erupting jet of fire blocked by a lump in his throat, his whole body itches to throw a devastating jab or a gut-wrenching kick to the other’s stomach. The size doesn’t matter for a seasoned fighter like him. The other has about thirty pounds extra on him and an inch or two more. Without ever studying for anatomy, through myriads of experiences and watching the light fade out from the unfortunate victim’s eyes, he could render this very man knocked unconscious in matter of seconds. He doesn’t even need the gun to do that. Instead, his pressed lips grope onto what was supposed to be Gabi’s cosmopolitan.  _ Why in the flying fuck does the drink have to be red now? _ Futilely trying to extinguish the rising fury, his thought flashes to have a crack at the martini glass to threaten the other for the impolite words, but he maintains his calm as best as he can. Through gritted teeth, he mutters almost inaudibly. “You fucking don’t know what kind of motherfucker you’re messing up with.” 

Well aware of Gabi’s hands on his back, but his head and torso defies the order as he looks over the shoulder, throwing more invisible blades at the man who leaves in a hurry. It’s easy to get into his most threatening mode, like one of those big cats walking briskly and making firm, precise movements as it camouflages behind the tree or lush bush. Pouncing against the prey to slit their throat, slashing the viscera and tearing them down until their features were indistinguishable. An arm akimbo, he is quick to light a cigarette from the one sticking out from the crumpled pack, along with the bow-tie. “Thirty-fucking-five isn’t that bloody old. Fucking motherfucker, I would’ve squashed his fucking face down on the ground with my jab.” His raucous voice breaks the chilled silence as he goes through the cigarette quickly, his still flushed face looks through the bar counter, his untouched and unattended drink still fixated on his eyes. 

At least the breeze was cool enough to subside his rising anger taking the form of a column of flame. A hint of acutely cruel tilt still present on his voluptuous lips, he presses the stub against the stone ledge with too much force and flicks it over the shoulder, turning his attention back to Gabi again. The wrath subsided enough, but still present underneath his slightly disheveled and wrinkled silk dress shirt, he takes a sudden step back as the kiss leaves his jaw to slack. Staring into her face as he remains frozen in space, an amused shake of head follows as a wide and easy grin plasters onto his facade. Eyebrows raised, hazel pool subdues to gentle ripples, instead of angry fists beating across the surface of the unfathomable lava. 

Feeling like a tamed beast yet again, he leans forward, following her with slightly widened orbs as the chandelier lights intensify the familiar surge down his lower abdomen.  _ Fuck, not here. You’re fucking driving me crazy.  _ Sinking into his space as he drapes the waistcoat carelessly over the opposite armrest, a hand instinctively places against the opening of her dress, the anger dissipating and transforming into something entirely else. Impassioned lust. The barometer readings change as the inquietude, tempestuous sea before the storm dies down to a calm, gentle sea once again, but his explosive desire to have her right here and then skyrockets into an uncontrollable realm. A hand cupping the curve of her jawline and neck, a hand brushes over her inner thigh, all the way up to her hipbones in a diagonal. He already feels like he had sprinted the whole distance from the flat to the opera house. Heart frantically hammering as the broken kiss picks up the frenzied pace, he’s an ardent zealot, getting plunged and sloshed with the perfect drug that is Gabi. Outta girl, an earnest chuckle as he looks up through the lashes, he breathlessly pants and mutters quickly before the second act begins. “I fucking want you to stay the night. I don’t fucking care, I’m taking you in my arms tonight.”   

____

Sitting in her own seat as the lights dimmed, she isn’t even looking at the stage, and all eyes are on Nigel. He wanted her to stay the night at his place. Leaning in, until their shoulders are touching again she whispers. “Yes, I’ll stay the night with you.” God yes, she wanted to more an anything else right now. Her nerves were alight with fire. She was shaking with energy and anticipation. The show is forgotten it’s an after thought, for the first time ever Gabi fucking couldn’t care less about music. Her mind is in a feeding frenzy, and its fucking shark week. The shark in question is sitting next to her like some sort of Greek god.  _ Be my Hades take me down into your underworld, you have bewitched me. _ With a shiver she takes his hand again, giving it a tight squeeze.

After a little while of flipping back and forth from paying attention to the show, and staring at her date, she lifts his hand and kisses the back of it.  The kiss is gentle and full of promises, it is like an oath, unspoken of the new life they are about to begin together. A new chapter in the book of her life, it’s exhilarating. She keeps thinking of how his hand had trailed up the inside of her thigh, and his touch. It made her shudder involuntarily with pleasure. He was like a super massive black hole and he had sucked her in, and would never let her go. He consumed her and was slowly showing her the way to freedom. Every part of her soul she had kept locked away, hidden deep inside. It was now rushing out in gout’s, like an open wound, it was pouring and spewing forth her blood, she was bleeding love, and the only thing that could staunch the gaping hole was Nigel.

Lowering his hand that she still held in her tight grip, she dragged it down the length of her body, eyes closed and breathing way to heavy, she stopped his hand just at the cleft of her inner thigh. Lips parted and panting, she waited through the second act. It was an agonizing slow and painful drawl, as if it would never end. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. The only thing keeping her in her seat was the respect she had for opera. If this had been any where else, she would have demanded he take her to his flat right then and there. Her heart was hammering in her ears like hoof beats thundering down the track. It all was tipped on the edge a balancing act, the slow motion crawl of watching to see which horse won the race.

She didn’t think she would be the winning horse, the show was clearly the winner as it was gripping their fates its cruel hand.  _ Oh fucking bloody hell why had she chosen the opera as their first official date?  _ This was her cruel mistress, the Venus in furs, the temptress luring her in, but smacking her hand away. All before she is able to grope at the object of her love and desire, her pulse was like a sledgehammer in her veins. The fever burning across her skin, all from his touch. Her fire was waiting for his spark to rekindle her bonfire heart. She felt like the air fanning his flame, making him burn brighter and more internal. She felt like a completely different person, a stranger. One not confined to the set of rules she had lived by her whole life. It was new to her and it was addicting, this drug she had in her veins, now that she saw the light, she could never look back.

The second that the lights came up from the end of the show she was up. She had practically jumped out of her seat. Rearranging her dress and shawl, clutch purse in hand, she gave Nigel a look with so much heat behind it she thought it might burn him. Leading the way out to the lobby weaved in and out of the people leaving. Not once did she dare let go of his hand. It was her anchor, if she let go, she felt like this dream would end. The thought made her cringe; she didn’t want this to end, not ever. She had found the heart of a lion in the belly of a beast and she now held it in the palm of her hand, and she never wanted to let it go. Turning to Nigel she pressed in close to him, standing on tippy toes, she kissed him hard, a press of lips, bruising, and fierce. When they broke apart for air she told him breathlessly. “Take me home.” It’s time to meet your maker, someone let the beast out, baby. 


	38. Chapter 38

The cue of dimming light feels like a gut-wrenching blow, a freight train breaking every piece of his bone in the body, the initial contact with the burning iron burns him inside out. The orchestra plays and he shifts in his seat, hips canting to press against the back of the cushion as his achingly hard erection pushing against the fabric of his boxers. The unmistakable tingling sensation along his spine feeds the compulsion to just kick himself off the seat and take a leave. If what he felt out of sheer anger had his sun-kissed skin take a glistening sheen of the luscious sand of the beach, now everything was turning into a quagmire, entrapping him as the standstill lava begins to boil and bubble over the brim of his consciousness. “Yes...” He gasps out, his body posture clearly slacking and his tongue licking over his parched lips. It’s so fucking close he can taste her whole already. He feels like jumping up and down in his seat like an excited child, the looming anticipation too much to be subsided.   

Enough of disguising and trying to repress his raw and unrestrained thoughts. The play picks up to reach its awaiting climax, the opportunity for game begins with Giovanni and Leporello dissimulate their semblance. Nigel’s strong eye contact still present as it is the dominating feature of his visage, he reciprocates the vigor and tries to keep his posture straight, vehement, larger than life. Paying half-attention to the stage and the conducting orchestra, eyes lift with adoration as she kisses the back of his hand. A thumb pressing against the visible vein on her hand. A silent plea.  _ Can you hear my fucking heartbeat solely beating for you?  _ Soon, the short-lived treachery is revealed and Giovanni’s identity is revealed now more than ever as the characters are convinced that he is the murderer of the Commendatore. His attention dissipating away completely from the play as Giovanni adamantly refuses to repent as Elvira reaches out to him in pity and he acclaims that wine and women are ‘support and glory of the humankind,’ soon, Gabi’s hand moves along the length of her body and he leans sideways, eyes widened to register her arousal gnaw at her. The back of his hands making the lush fabric to reveal her flesh even more and he feels like if his lungs had been plucked out of his ribcage, a fucking bloody eagle as streams of blood pours out like a deluge. 

Not even daring to take a breath as he doesn’t have functioning lungs, his wide hazel pools become diaphanous, as he tries to map her body as he loses in her over and over again, drowning in her as he senses everything else become the backdrop. His eardrum thumps, the base drum percussion becomes ear-splitting than ever as his orbs remain open, transfixed at the sight of her trembling skin, visible sign of her delightful bliss as he etches that into his brain, becoming ripples in front of his very eyes as it sustains his growing pleasure. With Giovanni’s cry in pain as he gets surrounded by demons, after relentlessly unyielding to Commendatore’s last chance to repent, he lets out an unhindered groan, sharp and guttural. Brows pinched as tiny paroxysms propel his ongoing inclination, The kindled instigation is present now in a form of unmistakable spot of wet fluid, seeping more through the fabric. 

Like a bloodthirsty leopard savoring its exquisite taste of surging blood into its mouth, he relinquishes into the exquisite raptures of delight, the rousing musk ever-growing to caress his body like sparks of electric currents. With this rate, he could release without ever being inside her. Already waterlogged with layer of thin sweat, the sensitive tip giving a little twitch as he shifts his leg to be crossed the other way, fingers unfasten a couple of buttons, suddenly being placed on the road with his helmet and form-fitting leather jacket on. Sweltering day, caressed by heatwave and basking under the sun above. His rapacious heart about to accelerate faster than the hum and roar of the engine beneath him. 

Lost in trying to find his way back to reality, ‘the death of a sinner always reflects his life’ acts as a cue. How fucking blissful way to die it would be. The end seems near, the character everyone wishes to be gone dies, a fitting demise, the supernatural part of the play doesn’t really get to him in a spiritual level. Too encompassed by his own corporeality and the gratifying buzz coursing through his vein like the most powerful drug, the cue finally arrives in the form of the illuminating lights from the chandeliers. Staring at her back and hastily making the exit along with her like a leashed dog running along, the dynamic of how the night had turned out is so riveting and thrilling. As soon as they are out to savor the chilled wind sweeping through their form, the inflaming kiss sends his already swollen lips to clash, grope with wholesome eagerness and earnestness that he totally forgets he had left his waistcoat in his seat. Bewildered and winded, he struggles to take a breath as he nods, the ravenous look on his eyes, ardent and fierce. “The limo.. Should take us home.” Like fluttering banners announcing the play, his voice quavers. A hand smoothing over his side, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against the tight, unforgiving fabric when it comes to absorbing the sweat and how his whole body burned as if the wound burned and throbbed.      

___

When the limo arrives they stumble in like two drunken people leaving a really awesome party. She is laughing and struggling not to trip over her dress to find a seat in the back of the vehicle. All pretenses are dropped, the prince charming gone, to be left on the floor of the opera house. The once elegant, charming, handsome gentleman, was now an enigmatic, fierce, achingly provocative, anti-hero type, his waist coat gone, shirt collar unbuttoned, bow tie missing like it had never been. They sat what seemed so far apart, like they were locked in their own cells in a prison. Just staring at him there was almost an invisible barrier around him, if she tried to reach out it would shock her. The cool press of the leather seat is startling on her neck, her whole body is flushed and god she was so turned on.

It was a waiting game, she was afraid if she moved, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself, she would end up ripping all of her clothes off and throwing herself at his feet like he was a god to be worshiped. The way he slouched in his seat, the faint hard press outline of his erection, it was almost enough to push her over the edge. Biting her lip she ran a hand across her own body, dragging it down the plane of her stomach and stopping at her hip. The slit on the side of her dress rode up dramatically as she slid lower in the seat. The exposed line of skin on her leg feels like frostbite where it pressed into the cold leather seat. Barely could she feel the cold burn on her one ass cheek as it kisses the upholstery. She had worn a thong so that you didn’t see the outline of her panties through her dress. The lacy top of her stocking stood out against her pale skin, like an invitation.   She wanted to touch herself so badly, to watch him bare witness to her yearning. The ride in the car is like the appetizer to their feast of senses.

Watching with hooded lashes, her dark make-up making it appear as if her eyes were fully closed. She was running hot, even with the thin fabric of her dress, the shawl slipped from her shoulders to pool at her waist. She let the cool leather sooth her upper back. It made her shiver, she was positive that if the front of her underwear was exposed you would see a dark mark of wetness. Never has she been more turned on before. She could feel just how wet she was, and it made her quiver. The anticipation was so thick in the limo you could taste it, like something you could pluck out of the air and put in your mouth, roll it around on your tongue and savor it. The best sort of chocolate, sweet, and very bad for you, but no matter how bad it is, it tastes so good you want more, and you would eat the whole damn box yourself. Greedy and uncaring, she wanted it all; she would not share this candy with anyone else.

The limo stopped and like two greyhounds they were frozen in place, waiting for the gunshot. Neither moved in their seats, but Gabi for whatever reason, she felt that lick of power. The perfumed roll of thunder, and energy she had drank down from his lips like an elixir, it made her move first. Opening the door, she glided out, and with a sly grin, she took his hand. Any shy, timid or unsure feelings she had before, were gone. They had evaporated into thin air, and she rode this new feeling. Her drug was coursing through her veins, like liquid courage. Standing at the door holding his hand, she felt like a siren beckoning him to his watery grave. The only difference she was calling him to a sultry bed of roses. In a way she had always been a siren to him, her music calling to him. The cello’s voice doing all the talking, and pulling him to her like an invisible hand.

What stepped out of the limo was not the same beast that had entered. The shift in power was staggering. Nigel brushed passed her, with a vice like grip on her hand, and he pulled her along. The only choice she had was to swim or be pulled under the current. Swept away in the tide, she was floating along. The change in Nigel was startling and entirely seductive. It sent a ripple through her, down to her feet, and into her core. She watched the line of his back the press of his clothes about his shoulders, and the muscles shifting. Lips parted she huffed out a pant, this was what she loved. His powerful, animalistic vigor, it was what did it for her.  _ Oh my my, what he did to her. _ The little spark in her heart worshiped the flame that was Nigel. It begged to be allowed to share his fire. It was something coiled under the skin that she could feel when he touched her, it burned like electricity.

As they made their way up the stairs, it was a rush. They were practically running. She had to run to keep up with Nigel, and he never dropped his grasp of her hand. It made her hold her breath and her eyes glazed over. It lit up her body, and it knotted up her stomach. The closer they got to his flat, the more hurried their steps became. When they reached 502A at least, they were both out of breath. Still holding his hand, and laughing. She leaned against the wall while he fumbled with his keys. Her shawl drooping in the crook of her arms, clutch purse held in her free hand like a stress ball. Let the main course begin, she knew this was where she was meant to be. Every piece of the puzzle that had been missing her in life now fell into place. Clicking together, and making a whole picture.  


	39. Chapter 39

A diaphanous layer of sweet plastering the silk shirt underneath the jacket, the buttons unfasten as the jacket flaps along with the rush of his form. Almost phantom-like in his movements. Akin to a pouncing apex predator’s stealthy motion carrying him inside the limousine. His thigh muscles quiver as the arousal surges, the bulge between his legs achingly visible underneath the form-fitting garment.  _ Fuck, so close, almost there _ . He can’t even move his fucking arms right, feeling like a constricting boa suffocating the life out of him as the lungs burn with much needed air. Entrapped in the cast of his seat, his teeth slowly sets together, lashes batting against the damp skin. The unavoidable desire to stick a hand in, relieve himself from the confinement of the growing delirium. The streetlights, stars looming over him, the buildings and oncoming traffics becoming a foggy blur, everything becoming a disconnect. He could register the floating ectoplasm whirling across the viewfinder of his soul, the heatwave from the effervescing molten mantle. 

Resting an arm onto the armrest, white-knuckled inter-digitization pushes his shoulders to straighten up. Taking a huge guzzle of the leftover champagne from the ride to the opera house to futilely quench the overwhelming lust. He can feel his toes curling and tapping against the patented oxfords, an erratic and too frequent sigh lifting and stretching the unforgiving fabric. The shirt widens to reveal his chest fluff, taking a peek over the parted garment. He already looks like someone who had been sloshed with too much drinks. His hair damp with a faint layer of perspiration, scalp drenched like a fountain about to go off. Feeling a trail of sweat follow the jugular, just over the pin-up girl tattoo, his eyes are wild and wide, slight flush tinted across his chiseled cheekbones and his neck arched. Just like when he touched himself in the shower. Fingers splayed over his light locks, scattered with ashen and blonde, hazel continues to stare into space, out the window. He can’t bare to look at Gabi now or the sliver of inhibition will snap free. 

Every sensation feels so foreign, although he is used to the bodily awareness of the copulatory act itself. If this was hell he would be dragged down, sinking eternally into an unfathomable pit of incinerating fire, he feels like that soldier who had ran a marathon distance to bring forth the good news of the victorious battle. If he dropped dead now, he would meet his untimely and foreseen demise with a curl of his lips. Running only on adrenaline and the looming prospect of what is about to come, the pyromania inside him fuels more of the blazing embers sweeping through his coppery skin, still sensitive, pink and jagged edge of distorted epidermal tingle all over, the undulation rising like a tide, turning into a sweeping tsunami. No amount of chilly gust of early fall helps to diminish the all-consuming wildfire, his inquietude apparent with more precum wetting the garment. Growing impatient than ever, he wants to rip the clothes off. Instead, he fumbles with the gun’s barrel, adhered to the dimple of his back with a puddle of sweat. Throwing his head back, his own body becomes the hot column of air, about to be released through the projectile, turning vicious and animalistic. His most deepest raw desire formulated through the wispy cloud of his crystallized puffs of breaths. 

Crossing no point of return, his fingers splay over once again, onto the cylindrical flute and grip of the gun where his name along with the motif of a serpent and leonine creature had been engraved and gilded over with gold. Shoving it back into the front of his pants, he wipes the sweat from his forehead, tilting his head downward to see the growing twitch, painfully aching to be freed. With his warmth transferred over, the gun feels hotter than ever in his death grip. Growing agile as his slender frame forcefully pushes himself up the flights of stairs, muscles ripple underneath the red and black clad form, eyes growing avidly carnivorous. His breath already reduced into raspy pants, the proverbial and feverish heat burning through her like a boiling flux of his blood. Catching his breath as he lets a rapacious aura swallow him whole, his arm feels like a clobbered mess, all thumbs as his uncharacteristically inefficient fingers search for the keys. 

Shoulders squared, he wants to reciprocate the smile, but his deceiving body acts otherwise; lips thinned, feeling the sweat pool above the upper lips as they purse together. A dramatic push of the door turns the invisible switch on inside his body. Ushering her into the flat, the jangling key, his gun, considered something inseparable, the jacket, roughly tugged off his fluctuating muscles as the hungered look flashes across his facade. “You have awaken the beast, don’t fucking wake me up if you can’t put me to rest.” The spread to be devoured, sating his explosive desire as a smoldering hand caress inside her legs, the fabric riding up her legs, the shawl discarded as it lands on the coffee table. Leading her against the couch, hands fumbling to push any hindrance away as the zipper on the side comes off, his gaze drips both of honey and whiskey.  _ Sweet, burning, all fired up.    _

With a gentle push of her shoulder, he watches her land, splayed across the couch. An audible swallow moving his adam’s apple along with the ebb and flow of his heart, a swift upward motion sends his plastered shirt off. Muscles growing with a sheen as his tight ab tauts, materializing into a form of a starved black panther. The glowing spark upon his hazel covetous against her half-naked form. “Your dress,  _ off _ , darling. I wouldn’t fucking last a bloody minute now.”  

___

Pulled at last into the dark awaiting abyss of his flat. Persephone being lead down into the underworld. Body pressed up against his, her shawl discarded like a candy wrapper, the treat within the true desire. His hands are on her and touching her inner thigh, the slow drag up the slit in the side of her dress. With a tremble she stares wide eyed and hungry at him at his words. The beast was awake, and she had no plans to let it stay awake. “I’ve earned the right to tame it.” She purred back at him. All that confidence she had shared from his fire pushed back against his aura. Determined and eager for more, she planned to tame the beast, and feel the beat of its heart in her hand. Her breath was coming short and fast, the steady drum of her pulse in her throat like a metronome. The zipper pull, sends her body tingling, and the light shove, gives her the feeling of free falling.

Not one to be an extreme thrill seeker, in her short life, she had always played it safe. Right now she wanted to ride every roller coaster, drive as fast as she can, run red lights, go sky diving. She was now like a junkie, she wanted it all, and everything Nigel could share with her. Clutch purse dropped to the floor, staring up at her beast, with a feeling like nothing before this was a whole new animal. She didn’t feel like herself, and it scared her and made her want to shout for more. All the doors to her inner self were blow wide open, and it was overwhelming. Biting her lower lip, she slipped the thin straps of her gown off her shoulders. Swallowing hard, she watched as he ripped his shirt off, revealing his perfect body. His injury had scabbed over but was healing; it stood out in stark relief against his skin.  That was all thanks to her, she had helped him survive, her song, her healing touch. She felt like she had created a monster just especially for herself, custom made and she would love it forever with every fiber of her being.

Eyes closed and holding her breath, she does as she is told. Shimmying out of her dress; she wickedly goes slow as it glides past her waist and she lifts her hips to scoot out and drop it off the end of the couch. Kicking off her shoes, to be freed like a horse from a bridle. All that is left against her skin is her silver necklace with ruby drops, and her underwear. Her breasts are small enough that she hadn’t needed to wear a bra, underneath her gown. With her short flaming red hair and lack of cleavage it gives her a fey like androgynous beauty. Like the queen of the fairies Titania, she was proud and fearless. Like in Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, she was a force to be reckoned with.  _ Would Nigel be her Oberon? Would they rule the fey realm together with an iron fist? _ Panting and skin tingling, she could feel her nipples harden.

With her left hand lifted up to her hair hanging onto the back of her own neck, she slides her right hand down from her breast to her stomach, and then lower. She wanted to feel the wetness between her legs. This was what he did to her, he drove her wild. It didn’t matter what he was doing, it was everything. He was like walking sex, and it made her lower body go tight with need. Touching two fingertips gingerly to the front of her panties, she felt the damp spot there. It would be hard to see in the dark, against the black thong, but it was there. She pressed in feeling the fabric soaking up the slick that her body made. Body shaking, she held out a hand to him, she couldn’t take it any longer. She felt like her body was going to explode from the inside out. She needed him right now, like air; she needed to feel him against her, skin to skin. “Come here.” 


	40. Chapter 40

Hidden against the looming shadow at the angle crawling over her body, his padding is like a raptor stalking prey. His talons poised, arms akimbo as the belt buckle unfastens as swift as a whiplash. Instinctively, his fingers trace the distorted edges, now pink and sensitive, the stitch still hadn’t pulled out from his skin just yet. Perhaps he will get around doing that tomorrow. He could still feel the stream of blood press against the skin as a faint shudder licks over along with the continuous beads of sweat rolling over the tanned skin. An unavoidable stream of dam about to break, the inclination of ardor multiplying tenfold. Without any illumination lighting the pitch-black flat, the underworld, standing at the gates of limbo - the entrance through the hell. No amount of restraints and shackles will help him to divert his sealed fate. 

The prize was in front of his eyes, wanting to be savored, offering herself as he had resurrected from the smoldering ashes and the gushing blood, the incandescent lava escaping from the paralyzed, helpless stoppage, bringing his savage hunting to a grinding halt. The lifeless form about to be decomposed in his own vicissitudes of appurtenances; which prospered with blood, a quid pro quo was in order, boomeranged back at him. The retaliation putting him out of business for many months. Having metamorphosed into a phoenix, his obstinate tendencies will die hard, but if there had been a crucial lesson to be learned, it was this; no matter how deprecating things were, there would be always someone to give the destitute a helping hand. And the size of that help didn’t correlate with how grandeur or awesome in its physical strength and size. The symbolism clear, just like the mythical creature, it began his second chapter, a renewal of his life to appreciate the great strength that exuded from the tiny girl.   

The flair of life, the equal passion to be matched at what she does. It’s like two mighty oceans crashing together to make its own tides, growing to cause a wreckage. “Good luck with that, you’ll fucking need it, gorgeous.” The feeling of two worlds colliding is a wonderful thing - how it had overwhelmed all of his senses, there’s no escaping it as he welcomes every aspect of it. The oxygen-rich environment feeding the embers to risen from the ashes. Smoldered and about to be extinguished as his apparition outflows in an emanation. His fire to her air. Like a vehement oak tree in times of drought, the roots digging deeper in search for water, whatever the form he becomes, Gabi will be just that, the thing he needs for him to prosper and thrive. The sensuous curve of her hips, her skin silkier than the silk that caressed his body only moments ago. How her skin quavered in response. The throb of her veins underneath his calloused and rather rough touch. 

Letting the arousal instigate as the shining reality grows bright, like the hot summer day marching on during the height of the season as the radiating sun dares anyone who looks upward to be blinded by the intensity. He summons the last morsel of patience to watch the fabric glide off of her, the lithe body enough to give the room its luminescence that lacked. When she’s just about done with shimming out of the dress, he begins his own to reciprocate. Head lifted, chest sticking out and standing taller than ever, his pectorals expand as he begins to sleepwalk across the chiseled muscles of his abdomen, painfully slow. A hand confirming his rock-hard erection and the moisture still clinging to the tips of his fingers, his narrow hips cant, the back of his hand pushing the fabric apart as a broadening grin lopsidedly stretches his lips to his ear. 

His orbs unwavering and unblinking to her almost naked form, both the suit pants and boxers discard as he slips them off like a snake would cast aside its slough. Stepping off from the bundle of clothes encircling around his feet, the last remnant of clothes, socks come off as his erect cock smears a stripe along the inner thigh, the sensitive tip already flushed. Growing brooding, the stretch of her hand becomes something of a blurred trail, an overexposed trail of cars’ trails over the bustling highway. Now he wonders what it would feel like having her pressed against his back, the humming and roaring engine underneath him feeding surmount of adrenaline straight into his brain. More than the ephemeral high of the coke. Her words become the stimulus again as he situates himself between her legs, a hand clutches around her hand, feeling slick wet his tips also. Teeth bared, he lowers himself as he gently entraps her hand to the side, grabbing the black thong with his incisors.

Letting go of her hand, his broad palm radiates heat as he caresses her ass, watching the fabric tug off her feet. kneeling as his knees prop her legs up, he discards the panties to the side, taking a long whiff as a smug smirk widens as he lowers himself. “Now, let’s get that last fucking article off before I fucking burn you whole.”

___

Having watched him shed the rest of his clothing, she was dazed by his figure, she marveled at his form. She had never seen a man fully naked up close and personal before. Sure in photos, and book, or in video, but never the real thing. The realization only magnified her arousal. She didn’t think it was possible to be any more turned on than she already was, boy was she wrong. It was like the last tiny chink her armor. The sight of his erection, made her pupils dilate, if she thought he was beautiful before, it was nothing compared to seeing the whole thing. With no clothes to obstructing her view, he was magnificent. She almost had to look away.  _ How could someone be so painfully stunning? _ It wasn’t just any one feature either, not with Nigel. It was those eyes, his perfect mouth, broad shoulders, my god chest hair… she didn’t think she would have a thing for that… ever.  Who knew, it would be something that definitely did it for her, only because it was him.

She loved everything about him, even his scars, particularly his scars. When he came to her and settled between her legs, she nearly died. She wriggled against the couch, barely able to hold still. Her body felt like it would break apart, and crumble into a million tiny pieces, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. When he did touch her though she held her breath, she had that tight coil of tension back in her stomach. Looking back on the beginning of the night, she had no clue or idea what to expect. Her world had been flipped up side down. Falling down a hole and now chasing her white rabbit. As he clutched her hand she melted into his touch. The sight of him baring his teeth and lowering his head between her legs has her nearly swooning, turn into a creature with no skeleton, boneless and limp. It has her feeling like a bowl of jelly, formless, and quivering.

When he let go of her hand, she couldn’t help but run her now free hand through his hair, it was so touchable, and had a life of its own. She carded her fingers through the strands. Biting her lower lip when he removed her underwear, the thong disappeared. The feel of his hand on her ass, made her let out an involuntary moan. It wasn’t loud, but in her head it sounded like the crash of cymbals. Fully exposed now, she was suddenly aware of the fact that this was happening. He spun her out of control so wonderfully. The prickling heat spread across her whole body making her even more flushed. The sound of his voice was like music to her ears. Her well trained ear, picking up the tone of his voice, and the aria called out to her. It did things low on her body that she never would have imagined. No amount of porn, or reading smut had prepared her for this. This didn’t even compare to the things she had read. It was far better, and it was personalized.

Trailing her hand from his hair she slid it down the side of his head, across his ear, to stroke fondly against the tattoo on his neck. Sitting forward, she gripped him by the shoulder with her left hand, and pulled him close enough so she could plant a kiss to the side of his neck. She had wanted to do that for a while. Playfully she licked a wet stripe across the outline of the pin-up girl. Every part of this she wanted to savor, it was special. The first time for this to happen, and she would remember it for the rest of her life. She wanted to remember every little detail, the feel of their bodies pressed together. The way he looked at her, like she was his whole world. Before she had been embarrassed by the fact that she was a virgin, with someone such as Nigel, he was so beyond her. He didn’t make her feel like a child though. He didn’t look down on her for being younger then him. Now it didn’t seem to matter, she was still herself; it wasn’t an object to taken away from her. No it was a memory that she would share with someone else. She was glad that it was him that she got to share this with, even if he didn’t know. Maybe later she would tell him, but certainly now right now.

Eagerly she traced a fingertip down his chest, still holding onto him with her left hand. Fingers touched the fuzz on his chest, she kissed him there too, she wanted to touch every part of his body, and follow it up with kisses. She wanted to explore every inch of him. The map of his skin was something to be memorized and learned. He felt like her stars that a sailor used as a guiding light. A light house in the dark to follow. Fingers migrated from his chest to his stomach, and where ever her hands roamed gentle, air light kisses followed. When her hand reached lower to where his erection was waiting, she almost stalled, her mind skipped like an old fashion record player. Touching him at last, she looked up at his face when she stoked long his length. She hadn’t expected the way it felt, it was hard and soft at the same time. Looking up at him the heat behind her eyes, could scald. Staring into his eyes and curling a fingers around him, at the same time as a sly grin curled her lips. She still had one last kisses to give him.


	41. Chapter 41

No amount of milk or creamer would make the strong coffee diluted enough or get rid of the distinctive bitter taste of coffee and make the concoction pure white ever again. The whirling milk is enough to make him soften up a bit, the indistinguishable embers scalding his epidermal layer, all hard skin and muscles and map of veins stretching across like the effulgent thunder gnarling and painted across the sky in the most twisted and knotted form. Compacted in a streamlined form of a predator. He’s not the most herculean nor exceptionally agile. But he carries himself with innate grace and smug swagger of a skyrocketing self-confidence. As if someone had tasered him down, he remains surprisingly placid.  _ Maybe that’s what she had meant. Taming the fucking beast. _ Perhaps a dose of tranquilizer had hit him, despite the overwhelmingly ardent orgasm fueling the need to consume whole. Except his hands. They squeeze and fondle, feeling the soft layer of fat underneath the round globes, moving upward to hold her narrow waist, drawing half crescents with firm pressure, feeling her skin give in and turn colors. Arms snake around her back, broad palm transferring the warmth as he supports her pivot of her spine, the other around her breast, longing for coeur to coeur contact, not even an inch of skin separated. At least for a while. 

Regarding her through the fluttering lashes, the gentle arousal licks through his skin as a sighing spring breeze, gently swaying the branches. His mind remains more turbulent, as if something had knocked off his feet. Standing at the core of the hurricane, he becomes the source of the tumultuous calamity, his head whirling with blurry fog of the everglades. The condensed woods, trying to escape through the labyrinthine sectors of the maze, presented in the form of her unexplored body. A reeling presentation of everything disastrous. Lips parted, he could almost feel his own heartbeat become more frenetic through the warm moist tongue of hers. The cords visible, veins stand out as his erection twitches, thwacking against his taut stomach. At standstill, fingers splay over her hips as he squeezes, leaning over the cushion as he throws his head back, feeling the dewlap stretch. An imperceptible groan bubbling from deep down his throat. Nuzzling against her fiery flaming locks, lips brush over the curve of her neck, a series of languid kisses etching across the length of her neck. A soft suck, tongue painting a broad brushstroke as he tastes her film of sweat. 

Impatient desperation subduing into the reverend adoration, he wants this to last the whole night. Forever imprinting the memory to be plucked whenever he was away from her; the sight and taste of her, the soft moan, trembling porcelain skin, exhibited solely intended for him. The immeasurable gray-blue of her pupils, so deep and emotional. Just like his own fire inside hazel, infinite flurry of both slashing claws and caressing mittens. The vibration from her etched mark continues to burn as the escalating heartbeat becomes an oscillating percussion of the drum. The pendulum swings as his mind briefly daydream about pinning her down by her wrists, taking her here and now. His body, already scalded with fervid succulence, both the rolling beads of sweat and a glistening moist dripping against the length of his shaft. The foreskin pushed back, the flushed tip of the crown sensitive.  

Along with her downward trace, the rise and fall of his chest absorbing the gratifying caress of her slender fingers. A hand still grounding her by the dimple, the other one moves to cup her breast, giving it a gentle squeeze as a thumb moves to perk the nipple up. Their ongoing silent exchanges of words through carnal bliss. Harmonious without being too aggressive. With a shifting cant of his hips, feeling the plush cushion rustle against the dampness of his skin. he unconsciously lunges his hips, ramming the length into the touch. As if her sex had been already clenching around the throbbing nerves. A fluttering gasp, low and guttural, slips as a burst of saturated clear fluid weeps from the slit. Dripping down against the backside of his erection. An agonizing slither follows, his muscular thighs quavering with little spasms.  _ Fuck... Oh fuck..  _

Bathing deep within his condensed aura, even the minutest touch on his rod sends him to squirm, his glutes lifting off from the couch as his spine arches like a bow, strung up as far as it goes, ready to fire. Grabbing her hand, he puts it over the foreskin, gradually stretching over the swollen head. “I’m fucking gonna cum if you continue your ministration.” He knows what’s imminent - the caressing, the touch that maps out his whole body, then the kiss to seal a brand, stamps of some sorts. Registering all the sensitive parts. His lower abdomen clenches, the unavoidable surge of blood about to burst like a dam, the gush of fluid about to be ejected. Slowly, his teeth press against his lower lip, already puffed up and tinted with color with bruising and passionate kisses.  _ Kiss me, right fucking now, before I disintegrate inward and melt into the couch.    _

___

All the sensations going on have her breathless, with his hands roaming across her body and him placing her hand over his foreskin. She strokes him, at the same time kissing him hard on the mouth; it’s crushing and full of passion. It’s just the thing she needs to push her into action; she pulls away to bend down and plant the final kiss against the head of his erection. The clear fluid that leaks from the slit leaves a trail like glitter across her lips, when she sits back up. The look he is giving her is enough, she needs him right now. Tapping him on the arm frantically. “Get a condom, I need you right now.” Staring at him wide eyed and expectantly.The urgency there now is almost to much for her to handle. She feels like she might faint if he doesn’t move fast enough.

He looks at her like he might die, and goes to fetch one from his wallet, she watches him stalk away growling like angry cat. When he had returned he had tore into the wrapper with his teeth, and was rolling it down over his length. Her cheeks are on fire, burning, and she feels too hot. When he moved back into position in front of her, she watched wide eyed as he lowers himself against her body. Wrapping her arms around him she lets him move her as needed. He angles himself against the outside of her opening, and she shivers. Surprised at how gentle he is with her she can’t help but whisper. “Take me…” Her mind is as blank as it’s ever been everything is focused on the moment, everything else faded away. The constant over thinking and skeptical inner voice silent for once. It all narrows down to just Nigel and her.  

He had pressed her down into the couch, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, while he worked himself into her entrance. Pain had been her first expectation. Every story that she has ever heard from friends or any where, for that matter, always say that the first time is going to and will hurt. She is more shocked by the lack of pain, than she is by how fucking amazing it feels. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Everything they did together was fan-fucking-tastic, so why not also them having sex. It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt; it was more a tolerable sort of stretch, as he worked himself inside her. It felt so good, the way he glided in and out, closing her eyes for a few minutes she enjoying that feeling alone.  She moved her body against his, legs locked as tight as she could. Her heels digging in the dip at his lower back, thighs enveloping against his hard waist. Resting her left palm on his side she could feel his chest rise and fall from his breathing. It made her writhe against him.

Inclining her head forward she brought him down with her right hand to meet him in a kiss. She drank from his lips like it was the best and most exquisite wine. The involuntary moans and noises coming from her don’t even sound like her in her head. The sounds work their way up her throat even around their lips locked together. When they part for air she is panting hard and she rests her head against the side of his face, breathing heavy into his ear. Staring up at the ceiling, she feels like she is floating on cloud nine. She managed to tell him, “This feels so good.” And she meant it, as cliched as it might have been it was very true. She couldn’t get enough; this is what she wanted forever. If it meant he was the one who would be pressed into her body merging with her and becoming one, she never wanted that to end.

Reaching down between their bodies, she started to touch herself, her fingers gliding through wet slick to press into her clit. She liked the way she could feel him inside her, and still touch herself at the same time. The pleasure was overwhelming, and she grinned getting an idea. Sliding two fingers around his shaft where it met her body, she let it rest there wet, and smooth she could feel him sliding in and out and passing between her fingers, in one fluid motion. It was so incredibly hot. Add that to the slick wet sounds their bodies made. She had no idea how she managed to be this wet, it was like a water balloon full of warm water had burst between her legs and had left her soaked. Clutching her left hand against his side still she hung onto him and let him consume her, let them mingle together and become one. She got a glimpse of him thrusting into her and she couldn’t help but stare at the space between their bodies. Watching him work in and out, it was mesmerizing. “My… god.”


	42. Chapter 42

With a gasp of air exhaled through his parted lips as they clash once again to taste and fully explore, he sees the blurring whirl intensify inside his head. Like getting drunken as he lets his own aura be subdued by her equally fiery one. Quivering thighs parting her legs even more as he gently rocks against the grip, he sees confetti pieces sparkle like myriads of shooting stars. He wants to stay in the inebriated state forever. “Ahh…” He lets out a strained, guttural and low exhale, more like a restrained gasp as fingers become talons, sliding off against the edge of the cushion as his veiny hands drain its color. Head thrown back, his taut abdomen rippling continuously at the end of his tether. When Gabi asks him to get the condom, a dramatic and earth-rattling sigh accompanies with a widened gaze akin to a detonating bomb, pools full of resentment and reproach. It’d be no fucking use cursing heaven. There’s no other way. 

Withdrawing himself as his movement becomes that of a crawling shadows, stealthy, expedite, life-and-death, importunate. A single, smooth motion as the thin rubber sheath effortlessly stretches over his length, something sinks inside his gut. His heartrate becoming clamorous, like the deafening applause of the opera attendees at the end of each act. The sensation had been ingrained into his brain, he just hadn’t at that time, because the world reduced for him to focus solely on the one incorrigible individual. Arms pressed tightly against hers, fingers entwined and squeezed tight. Not one inch of their skin parts from each other’s as the tip breaches inside her sex. How wet she is for him, and how smooth his curved length breaks the resistance of her tight coiled muscles, without even feeling the friction. Treasuring every moment of her opening up to him, his lungs feel like she has a constricting hold onto them. Technically, he would be the one taking a total control, yet he feels that chunk of it depraved. His organs were overworking. There would be no sobering up since he had met her. He was already drunk with accompanying pain. It was still present and visible in the form of his muscles trembling, becoming more of a rumble as the expanse of the brawn increasingly rippled. Moving with the piston of his hips. 

Arms locked tightly around the back of her neck, his lips part, breathlessly panting as he looks down, mesmerized and still in the frame of his mind as a paralyzed paroxysm locks him in the place, gently sucking his lips, tasting the lingering dulcet sweetness, letting his drenched body enveloped with their growing aura. Damp locks drape to create an ashen veil across his chiseled cheekbones, heavy lashes flutter with the gentle reverberation of his rhythmical thrusts. Continuing to drown in their bodies smacking and the incomparable arousal ripping through him in jagged lines, lips latch and mold fervently against hers as his fingers splay over the side of her face. his ever-increasingly growing hitching breathes, he welcomes the onslaught of sensations, sweeping his body like a tsunami. Her two fingers resting close to the base, every deep thrust sending his rock-hard length to pump more blood, prodding him more and more as his tight hips squeezes and motionless, as behind shut gates, a hydraulic damn is about to break. Agonizingly delirious, his movements become more frenzied as the air saturates with their heavy musk. 

Finding the special spot, his rapaciousness matches as his movements grow into a series of sharp, stabbing lunges, the vibration of their flesh smacking in a punishing rhythm contorts his facial expressions as concurrent surge of spasms urge the imminent release. Cheek pressed against the luscious curve of her neck, he gently sucks against her flesh, tasting the saltiness and the ardent, burning arousal. Feeling the unmistakable twitch before the release, muscles uncontrollably throe as milky fluid awash and fill, a succession of dense spurts leaves him in a never sinking, rapturous euphoria as he continues to thrust deep and fast, reeling from the bombardment of orgasm. 

Everything is so wet, alarmingly sensual as his half-shut eyes break into the dimmed darkness, everything becomes fogged up as he struggles to swallow, supplying much-needed oxygen to his depraved lungs. In desperate eagerness, he craves more and more. Growing more thirsty and famished. “F-fuck..” He chokes out, grabbing her fingers on her clit as the warm overflowing fountain soaks his hand. Wanting to taste her, his heavy pools raise up to meet her gaze, sticking two fingers to feel the exquisite heat.  _ Gimme more, I want to eat you up.  _

____

Clinging to his body like a thin plastic film to glass, she molds herself against him. She never wants to let go, she could do this forever if that was what sex was like every time with him. It was mind blowing, and made her thrash against him. The muscle of her sex constricting like a hand around a stress ball. She can feel herself getting ever closer to the edge, all from his movements and her caressing. Moving hips against his hard waist she finds a natural rhythm to their dance. Legs still firmly locked around him, and ankles crossed. With each thrust of his hips, she rolls her own to meet his. Making the contact more, much more, and harder. The rise and fall of their bodies like waves, rushing back and forth against the sandy beach. It’s a give and take a push and pull, and she finds that it was intoxicating.

Peppering his upper body with kisses any where and every where that her lips can reach. Tongue lashing out like a whip to lick the saltiness from his skin. The scent of them both is heavy in the air, and it’s like nothing she ever smelled before. This wasn’t how she herself had an odor, a natural sweet cloying fragrance in the air, no this was the two of them merged together to make a completely new perfume. It was now burned into the part of her mind that triggers memories. It was unmistakable and uniquely their own. Stilling her slow rhythmic caress of fingers, she trails them slick and wet, up the line of his body to let her hands roam. Wanting to touch every part of his skin, she can feel the sheen of sweat along his back. Bringing her one hand to card fingers through his chest hair, she touched the pad of her fingertip to the pebbled skin of a nipple. Rolling it gently between her fingers, and she has sudden urge to pinch it, but stops herself, and lets her fingers continue their journey back down to where her swollen clit waits.

When he starts thrusting faster and harder, all she can do is hang on and enjoy the ride, judging on by the way his breathing picks up and his pulse flutters under her hand he must be close. Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she lets him take her. Fingers of her free hand languidly stroking across her clit, not pushing herself over the edge, not yet. When his mouth sucks against her neck, she feels like she might lose herself, it makes she shiver, the ripple like a pebble in a pond, traveling across the whole surface of her body. When she feels him release, she runs a hand up his neck to cup the side of his face. Pulling him into a kiss, her teeth start nipping at his lower lip in a frantic need. When he continues to thrust through his orgasm, she breaks their kiss to watch him thrust into her a last few times.

As his movements slow, he is panting, and his throat clicks audibly as he struggles to swallow. The sight of him is almost blinding, his hair falling into his eyes, he looks at her with a sort of hunger a starving man has. When he voices his catch phrase of ‘fuck’ it couldn’t be more accurate. Mouth dry, she watches wide eyes as he takes hold of the hand that she has pressed into her fold, the locked gaze they share, is enough to make her pant wantonly. She suddenly feels like little red riding hood, about to be eaten, literally and figuratively by the big bad wolf. The fire in his eyes licked out to send a heat wave against her body, like a volcanic heat vent. Remembering back to when she told herself she could drown in those eyes, she now made good on that promise.

Feeling his fingers touching her overly sensitive sex is almost enough to make her orgasm. Her eyes followed him all the way down as he pressed kisses into her skin, leaving a snail trail from where he licked her body, then kisses lower, mirroring almost her earlier exploration. When his tongue found one of her nipples, she could feel that they were hard enough to cut glass. It sent a strangled noise escaping her throat. She closed her eyes as he worked his way lower, until his head was level with her hips. Swallowing hard, she could barely hold still, she was writhing and squirming under his touch. She always reveled in touching herself enjoying it, and making it a game. She loved to explore and learn all the ways her body liked to be touch, but that was nothing. Being touched by Nigel now was so overwhelming, and felt so much better. She let out a hiss, when his fingers made contact with her clit. “Yes.” Was the only thing she managed to say. 


	43. Chapter 43

His body rolling like the beating waves along the shore before the tempestuous storm, the ongoing afterthoughts of his movements brings a resurgence to his exquisite arousal. Still reeling from the afterglow as the moist expanse of his back glows with the luscious sheen under the illuminating moonlight, his corporeality feels like he’s about to turn into a melted candle, or slowly melting bronze sculpture, scalding heat ever-glowing inside his core, like a ticking time bomb. Each heartbeat pressing against the back of his throat, the lub-dub of the heart vibrates to his brain like a bell tolling on the church tower. Almost solemn, all his senses directed to focus on the oscillation as the frequency carries in waves, sweeping him and kissing over him. 

Sinking and succumbing into the abysmal pit of the quagmire, the sticky and warm fluid tastes salty sweet against his tastebuds, licking over the web of his fingers as hazel pool grows both ravenous and dripping with dulcet sweetness. Just like how he had imagined it would taste. She tastes consummate. Exquisite like the most sought-after caviar or țuică, his choice of Romanian spirit, prepared only with plums. Tongue wagging as he trails the digits, not missing a minute trace of the dense viscosity. Letting his unkempt, drenched locks curtain over his intense eyes, he relishes the burgeoning pinnacle of bliss, still rolling over his coppery skin as he savors the lingering taste of her on his fingers, too warm, attracted and unavoidable as a hopeless fly drowning in a sweet molasses of the pitcher plant, sliding off the rolled leaves to be digested, ingested and consumed. 

He stills, finding every expanse of his tendons and sinews, every fucking nerves and synapses firing out of whack, the electromagnetic currents in his brain surging to give him an electrocution-like petrification. Attuned to his senses, after all, sex is one of the ways he could strip off all of his inhibitions and a decent amount of pretentiousness he has to put up to deal with people. Defying the conformity and maintaining the establishment, deceptive in its facade, keeping a clandestine activities unknown to the public. High outcome meant equally high stress. There had been an equal part of give and take in that.  _ Quid pro quo _ . If he had been treacherous for his own benefit and putting his front as a criminal mastermind, his evisceration was one thing that was bound to happen. This, the whole Gabi encounter, had been serendipitous. An utopia he had concocted inside the recess of his pensive. The flawless sculpture to his Pygmalion. It feels too good to be true, like meeting his long-lost half, his soulmate who would take him in for his entirety.  

Going with the flow of stretched time, his frenetic heartbeat slowly regains its slow rhythm, strong, vigorous, thumping with urgency. Like an aftershock from a major earthquake that rattled and turned his everything upside down, a seismic shift as their mingling scents, shared breaths, fused auras carves into his brain. Like a glissade of an expert skier, his tongue paints a continuous, broad stroke, drawing long and shallow curves as the tip of his nose press against her pale skin, her sweet cloying taste painting over her. A devious grin widening his parted lips, he audibly inhales before molding his lips over her hardened nipple, sucking until the flesh stretches along with his pull. Giving a gentle bite afterwards, he continues his long journey southward, his hands roaming over her skin, wrapped around her back along the dip of the spine. 

With his head closer to the fold of her clit, he pulls her body closer to him, curling, and lifting her up. His erection already having slid off, he tugs the condom off, tossing in the trash can as the dense pearly white droplets still cling around the sensitive slit as the foreskin stretches over the flushed crown. Arms wrapped under and around the back of her thighs, his burning pool takes in the faint trace of mark he had painted in a serpentine movement. “Let me see how your fucking pussy tastes.” His fingers continue to rub her clit, flicking it occasionally before he buries his tongue deep inside her to be enveloped in her heat. Grabbing her ass and lifting her up higher, he tries to get as deep as possible, with long and slow licks, building up the intensity without making her folds not as sensitive to prolong the pleasure.     

____

His words reach her ears, like finding a new favorite song. It’s an instant love, an acknowledged bob of the head. The song gets you, and you get the song. It’s now part of your soul, and the tune finds a special place in your heart. So to do his words pluck a nerve in her heart burying deep forever more. It’s the call to her wild side, the answering wolf howl in the twilight, looking for its pack. The nerve endings of her whole frame are tingling with sensation and over stimuli.  Shaking from head to toe, muscles clenched with need. His hands clutching her ass, made her groan out with pleasure, and she wanted to claw at him, like some kind of animal. With him touching the fold of her sex, she loses herself to the touch. She is lost in him, drowning, with no life line.  _ Man over board. _

With head thrown back, panting heavy, chest rising and falling, there is a frantic struggle to watch his every movement, and every detail. Or to let go and be taken away on the tide. Repeatedly she opens and closes her eyes looking down the length of her body watching him with dark hooded lashes, only to shudder out inhuman noises, and look away. The sight of him doing those things to her was entirely obscene and wonderful. It’s nearly all too much, and she can feel the familiar pressure building it makes her feet prickling. Spine bowed, back arching she moves like a snake slithering against him uncontrollably, while he plays gently on her arousal. Remembering the way he had licked his fingers like he had just devoured the most delicious treat in the world, sent a new wave of pleasure. Lower muscles inside her body clinching involuntarily, over and over again.

When he buries his tongue into her folds, her mouth parts making a small. “Ahh” Sound, as he gathers a renewed grasp of her ass, pulling her closer, she goes with out any resistance. Never would she be able to deny him anything, she would always be putty in his hands, something to be molded, reformed, and sculpted by his hands, rough and broad, perfect. She felt like he was coaxing an animal from her soul, a wild beast of her own, he the tamer, the corrupter, and the creator. It felt like his tongue was splitting her wide open, baring her deepest, darkest, most intimate parts that never saw the light of day.  He set them free and tuned them like she often did her cello. Helplessly she clawed at the couch, trying to find a foothold on reality. Nothing seemed to do the trick, and she continued to drown in him. She would be lost at sea, taken down into the depths, sinking forever into a watery grave of her own making.

Moaning and thrashing, she moved her body against his, hooking her legs over his shoulders, knees locking into place, and her hips gyrating back and forth. No matter how deep he buried his tongue inside her, she wanted more, deeper, harder, everything. Removing her curled hands from the couch, she can’t help but to rake her nails across any part of Nigel’s body that she can reach, it isn’t enough to draw blood, but for now it’s enough to satisfy her hunger and need for destruction. It leaves red track marks in long streaks trailing down his arms, across his shoulders. Sliding her hands across his shoulders, and up his neck, she cups the sides of his head not unlike how she would when she kissed him, but only this time he was kissing lips of a different kind. Frantically she dug her hands in his hair. She held on to him, and rocked her body into his face, it was an automatic reaction, something she couldn’t stop if she wanted to, and she didn’t.

Her breathing grew heavy, and she almost cried out when he started to bath her clit like a cat would wash its paw, slow and with a devious feral look in his eyes. She could almost see him pause, curiously before continuing his relentless pursuit of her bliss. Growing so close to the edge she wavered there. Hands still gripped in his hair she tugged at it grasping for something to grab on to, so she didn’t fall to her death. It was inevitable, she couldn’t hold on forever. She was practiced at pleasuring herself, but this was new, she had no experience in this kind of enjoyment, and she loved it. He teased her so expertly, the saliva from him mixed with her natural fluids creating even more mess to the wetness that spread against her inner thighs, it trickled down her ass crack and soaked into the cushions of the couch. She couldn’t hold on any longer so she went base jumping off her cliff. She threw herself head long. Her hips working against his head, he never stopped. Her release washed over her, making her grip him between her legs like she was riding him. Her heart hammered like rolling thunder in her head, it pound in her ears, she cried out in shock. “Nigel!” body almost bent in two, while he held her in his grip like a vice, not letting her go.  Breathless she fell against the back of the couch and lay there stunned panting for air.


	44. Chapter 44

Seeing sparks of light, the dazzling blaze continuing to overgrow without its limit. All the entwined links of their story, reflecting entanglement of their limbs, chapters unfold as the previous events unfurl like an animation flip book. None of the pages wasted, both accounts of unforeseen accidents and fortuitous moments ablaze in an untempered heat inside his core as his movement grows more urgent. Both successes and failures are what strengthens him; never the one to give in easily in his life.  _ What I hold in my inescapable grasp, she’s fucking mine.  _ Like Gabi’s cello playing had been her second nature, his own would be his vigorous and animated spirit, the zest he has for life and everything else that comes with it. How restless he had been at the opera, almost airless, his viscera about to explode as if he had been a deep-sea diver inside the decompression chamber. He would be a puddle of mush and a ticking time bomb if he ever stepped outside the coiled tenseness that was his body. Immobile, going with the flow as every string controlling his limbs cut from the puppeteer’s hands. The music caresses and sweeps across and between, enchanting him with a spellbound magic. 

The reckless traveler searching for the oasis in the middle of the desert, he buries himself inside the twittering fountain of elixir, birds chirping, calling for him. The quivering flesh and her moans sounds sweeter than the most succulent caramel notes of the liquor. Lifting her up for some more, the flat of his tongue, the vessel for carrying the warmth and the means of letting everything all go. Feeling the vibrations carry through his skin, the personal serenade begins to rewind in his head in the form of her fluttering chords, the climax building as he gets lost in the translation of another aspect of silent language that they share. Through the notes, plain and sharp, building up intensity as his muscle moves like a hummingbird’s wings. Watching the enigma of a girl, containing both lightness of an healing, restorative angel and the darkness that creeps over him in the form of a shadow painting his slouched figure and engulfing wetness that continues to size him like an ever-tight fibers of the absorbent paper. 

Cheeks hollowing, his tight mold around the folded velvety skin, fluids spilling over his pressed face as his face smooch firmly against her. His body enfolding over her as he mirrors the draping of the shawl. His windpipe sealed, the only sensation he could feel is the overwhelming sticky substance asphyxiating him with a glut. There’s no escaping it nor he wants to compromise. The lingering arousal kisses over in an endless surge. He could curl up in a puddle of her scent. The lasciviousness of the sounds, his own achingly hard erection, so fucking hard and aroused. He could be locked in the mobius strip of this movement, his fingers, still warm and amalgamated with strings of his own saliva and wetness from her sex, like a possessed voodoo doll, he sees blackness whirl around the head, like being sucked into a succession of black holes. 

Flooded with her never-ending obliteration of elixir, he gasps for air as lungs burn and squeezes tight, every pore crying for it. Looking like a triumphant warrior who had conquered the unconquerable, the dense glistening liquid paints over his face like a streak of paint. Victorious. Fingers prodding and pushing to stroke over her g-spot, each pull of his drenched locks confirm more and more that her release is imminent. The unmistakable spasm that rocks her petite body, reverberated onto his face like a series of fuel-pumping pistons. As soon as her orgasm rips through her body and his face gets a thick diaphanous pool of his own saliva and her sweet nectar-like deluge, his closed eyelids open, lashes thick as another previous life’s epidermis peels off. A cast-off skin he will never look back to.  _ As you are mine, I belong to you, eternally. _

Each nanosecond stretches into the length of time as each gasping breath warms up her groin, lips curve into a widening grin, turning Cheshire as he collapses and almost wheezes out like as if he had been totally burnt out from rigorous exercise. With a rub of his cheek, a broad stroke of their shared taste paints across the swampland. Summoning the last bit of strength he has left as his arms become the supporting buttresses for her wrecked body, he slithers upward against her torso, giving her the taste of salty caramel as teeth slowly pulls her lower lip. “Let me take you to bed now.” His words becoming its own wicked serenade, his mellowed voice dissolves in the heaviness of their thundering breathes, the last blinding sparks of lightning subsiding as he lowers her onto the bed, permeated with his essence. 

____

Tasting herself on his lips, still panting, she kisses him back. She is so incredibly tired and worn out from their activities. Her arms are like noodles, and if she had tried to stand right now, she was almost positive that her legs would be wobbly. Feeling satisfied and sated after the tension built up from the opera house to his flat, its so relaxing, to know that it was resolved. Everything that has happen so far from the moment she stepped into his flat at the beginning of the night until now had been like a dream.  This was definitely not how she imagined the night would go, and she couldn’t have been happier with the outcome. Both of them now still breathing heavy and coming down off their own separate highs. His body pressed into hers for their kiss, the scratch of his stubble, all her senses are heightened.

When she is lifted along with his words, and set onto the bed, rolling over to be next to the wall, the bed is almost too small. It doesn’t bother her that there is so little space, as it lets her be close to him. She just wants right now to be his second skin. “That was amazing.” She breathed out, her breath finally regulating. Still she can feel a steady pound of her heart beat radiating from her groin. It’s a subtle reminder of what they just did. Falling back onto the bed, she watches him from beneath eyelashes while he climbs into the next to her. As soon as he is settled, she moves to curl against his side. One leg draped over his and her head resting on his chest. A finger idly dances across his torso to be tickled by the fuzz that is there

Laying there in each others arms, she mulls things over her in her head. The cogs spinning, the wheels turning, the machinations going on aren’t nefarious. Just debating she hadn’t made up her mind on whether or not to tell him that she was a virgin.  _ Did it really matter? _ She didn’t want to lie to him that was the last thing she wanted, there was no place for lies in a relationship, in her opinion. Honesty was the best policy if you wanted things to work out. She hadn’t lied to him, it just never came up. If she told him, her conscience would be clear. If she didn’t it would most likely gnaw at her like it did now. Being up front with someone like Nigel was probably for the best. He was the type to take people at face value and he didn’t seem to be the trusting kind of guy. In a way that made her feel special, that he had allowed her to be as close as she did the past couple days.

If she told him and he wasn’t happy about it, there would be nothing she could do. She would be forced to just go with the flow of whatever the outcome. It hurt to think that he wouldn’t want anything to do with her over something so simple. That was the one thing keeping her from just telling him, there was such a stigma about being a virgin and it didn’t really matter. Yet people treated it like it was such a big deal. Letting out a tiny little sigh, she looked up at him. She didn’t want this to end; she couldn’t bare the thought of not getting to see him all the time. To enjoy his company, and to get to experience sex with him again. It made her wince like she had been struck. Already she was so attached to Nigel. Even if it only had been six days since they met, if felt like a life time.

Making up her mind at last, she decided to go with her original plan, to tell him afterward. It was for the best, and whatever happens, happens. Even with the risk of not seeing him again, she worked up the courage to just tell him. If anything she could laugh about it, not bad she thought she had done fairly well for her first time.  _ Eh fuck it, what is the worst that could happen? _ Adopting a sly grin, she sat up on her elbow and looked at him in the face, meeting his eye with a twinkle in her own. “So… What was it like taking a virgin?” Biting her lip she waited for the reply, good or bad.  She would remember this night, and it would stay with her forever. It reminded her of one of those great love affairs you read about in books, her beautiful wounded animal of a man, and the healing fey. Strength behind the power of their love so strong, nothing could stop them. That was what this was made up of, everything that made fairy tales so damn attractive. Nothing could take that from her.  _ You have my soul forever in the palm of your hand, be gentle with it. _


	45. Chapter 45

Sleepwalking through the quagmire, he puts up a formidable fight as his limbs feel like they belong to someone else - outside of his jurisdiction as he literally collapses into a heap. Just like how he had been when he succumbed to an abysmal depth of the oblivion. Consciousness slipping along with his vigor and animated vitae. Placing his own life in an ultimate wager; it’s abominably worse than placing himself in a Russian roulette. At least he can predict and calculate the probability as he awaits his fateful turn. Merely few weeks ago, he still had felt like he was an entrapped insect on a cobweb. There is no mercy, but awaiting his sealed demise. With his hammering heartbeat as the only gauge that his clinging life is still present. How wretched that was. All the everyday and mundane things he never appreciated. Such as breathing without having his ribs hurt like a bitch. A single, unforgivable reminder that it would be a slow, excruciatingly painful recuperation. For penguins to lay an egg and see a precious life born into the world, the male penguins has to endure months of arctic coldness, devoid of food and means of pleasure. He had the stifling heat from his own secretion.

The night closes with a bang, the curtains veiled close, the thunderous applause ringing in his ear yet again. Too good to be true. Sheets plastering onto his damp skin, his broad figure drops onto the mattress like a splintered firewood would. Still affected by the lingering afterglow as he gasps out, the cloying sweetness still adhered onto his skin as an extra epidermal. His hazel pool muddled by the fluids, a broad palm wiping away the excessive hindrance. Instead of flinging back a response, he breathes out in long strides, his unkempt hair rustling against the pillowcase. An arm winds around Gabi as she positions herself against him like cicada on a tree. Their contrasting tones of skin even more distinguishable under the illuminating moonlight. The swirling, ongoing beating of angry fists as they assault the oncoming cruise subsides into the gentle ebb and flow of the tide, the bubbling ripples kissing over the fine sand as his taut abdomen contracts. 

The other hand idly caressing over the side of her face, pushing over the fiery, drenched locks as their scents continues to blend, like the most exquisite concoction of tea blends. Honing his senses to concentrate solely on their exchanged breaths and the sliver of breeze licking over his skin from the window by the bed, he lets the comfortable silence set in like a heavy fog. Their unspoken communication at large, he feels he’s so close to be lulled into a serenity of deep slumber. Thick lashes growing weighty, his face slackened to take on a facade of an innocent boy almost. Instinctively, his calloused fingers smooth over her curve, along the dip of the spine, all the way down to the pivot of her hips. as if she had been his own instrument. 

Leaving an ear to the ground, he recedes back to the dusty corners of his mind and explores. The past six days don’t belong there, the recollections would be proudly presented and showcased like the most precious trophies he had earned. Incorrigible to any other contracts or deals he had secured by the means of his appurtenances of the trade.  _ I am forever chained to your soul, ‘til death do us fucking part. _ Struggling to open his shutting eyelids, he perceives her through half-open orbs. Almost inaudible sigh plucking out from the deep slumber to an awareness once again. Like a helping hand saving him from asphyxiating from mounds of sand. Minus his arms, his body feels like it had been set in stone, already petrified and molded along with his impression, already ready-made. 

Chin slightly tilted, the news of him breaking the cherry isn’t new. He had almost had it coming, expected all to be true. She still hadn’t been the legal age, although that never mattered in his own concept of conformity. What the society considered norm, it doesn’t come as no surprise that he rejects it all together. “Would you be fucking surprised if I told you I had a good idea that you were one? I had been fucking pleased as punch.”  _ And I fucking assure you, it wouldn’t hold a bloody candle to countless sexual intercourse to come. _ It will be one of his life’s biggest unsolvable conundrum how they have crossed paths - two individuals so distinctively different, but has tendencies to bring out the best (and worst) of each other. He hadn’t shown her even the sliver of his arsenals in his sleeve.  _ Just wait and see, I will make you into a fucking vixen, a second-in-command to my ruthless obliteration that is my thriving entertainment venue.         _

___

Resting in the circle of Nigel’s arms propped up on elbow staring at him dumbfounded, she opened her mouth to say something. Closing her mouth not sure what to say and then finally settled on. “Oh, Fair enough.”  It was clearly a moment of ‘if you can’t beat them join them’.  She lie back down, head where it had been before, and pressed up against him tight. She couldn’t help the wicked smirk that crossed her face.  _ So he had pretty much known and continued to pursue her. _ It made things a little different and slightly even more exciting.  She couldn’t lie, the bad boy side of Nigel brought something out in her, and it drove her absolutely wild. He was always one step head of her; she felt some sort of pawn on his giant life sized chess board.  _ Would she ever be his equal, to be the queen to his king?  _  There was a sort of challenge there that the hot whirlwind in her wanted to conquer like an air current feeding off his warmth.

Falling at last into rest, she could feel a wave of sleepiness come over her. She was exhausted, and lucky for her it was the weekend, she had no school tomorrow.  _ Thank fuck _ , she didn’t want to have to scramble in the morning to get clothes from home to wear to school. She didn’t think she could handle or face all that right now. There were other things to worry about, but right now it was the last thing on her mind. How lucky she felt to be the one to share Nigel’s bed, he had appeared to her at the café like a dark Adonis, something so far out of her league that he would never be interested in little old her. But here they are, two strangers with not a lot in common, but the one thing they shared, was a healing occurrence, and music. When all words and emotions failed her, and they found they had nothing to talk about, she would always let the music do the talking. Letting herself succumb to the steady rhythm of Nigel’s breathing, the beat of his heart and the feel of his chest rising and falling. She fell asleep, she had never fallen asleep in a bed with anyone else before, it was very interesting, and not all together unpleasant.

In the morning she woke up first, she sat up with a jolt, forgetting where she was. When it all came rushing back to her like photographs being scattered on the floor, she just stared at Nigel in disbelief.  _ Holy fucking shit, that wasn’t a dream, and I’m not crazy. _ Groggy, and still tired, but her internal clock set to school hours wouldn’t let he go back to sleep, so she slid out of the bed. Careful not to wake Nigel, she moved like a cat. Out of the bed it was chilly, with no Nigel as a heat source, her nipples got hard instantly. Moving to the dresser she pulled out one of his shirts, it was dark a button down, with a shrug she tossed it on. Anything was better then nothing right now.  The first thing she did was find her clutch purse; it had her phone in it. Looking at her phone she had a missed call, she had expected that. Out on the flats small balcony she called her father and let him know she was fine and had spent the night at Mihaela’s. So many half truths and lies all since Nigel stepped into her life,  _ what was her world becoming? _

After placating her father, she sent a text message to Mihaela informing her of the situation. She was the only person she even remotely told what was going on. Miaela didn’t even know the whole truth, but most of it. There was a very short wait for a reply from her best friend, and she laughed at it. Her dear friend was grilling her for details, with the knowledge that Gabi had spent the night at Nigel’s she could probably guess that, things happened. Gabi replied that ‘A lady never kisses and tells’ Mihaela called her a tease. Tossing the phone on the couch, she picked up her discarded dress. The living room looked like a tornado had blown through, clothes and objects scattered about. Carefully she draped the dress over the back of a chair, and picked up Nigel’s rumpled clothing. Tossing it into the hamper, she gathered the shawl from the coffee table, and ran her nose across some fluff of the black fox fur. Folding it neatly she laid the wrap on the chair next to her gown, and picked up her shoes, and moved them to the door.

Finally she moved into the bathroom, she took a birdbath in the sink, washing off, and splashing water on her face. She stared at herself in the mirror, she didn’t look any different, she didn’t feel any different, she was still Gabi Ibanescu, aspiring cellist. Aside from a dull ache in her bones from the night before, everything was normal, she was still herself. Her stomach growled, she was so hungry she could eat a horse, so after cleaning herself up, she went to the kitchen. Digging through the fridge and taking stock, she the found eggs that she had bought the last time she was here. With a shrug moving about the kitchen, and starting an omelet, a big one, she used up all the eggs, she didn’t want them to go bad. Nigel didn’t seem like he cooked very often, and she wondered what he did cook if he decided to at all.  Shaking her head, she whisked the eggs with a fork in a bowl. One thing that Gabi was insanely proud of was that she had perfected the art of making eggs. It was her specialty; they were quick, easy, and extremely versatile. 


	46. Chapter 46

His rising and falling chest cavity materializes itself as the pressurized column of air firing with his fingers on the trigger. That unmistakable punch of the chamber against the bullet casing, the whooshing, ear-rattling sound of ricocheting bullet as it makes its projectile. The sweet cloying scent akin to cherry blossom suffocates, which he can only translate as epinephrine. Each push of the jet beleaguering him with ongoing torridness. His lips stretch as he takes in her, his epiphany having flabbergasted her pretty well. An inherent expression, his lips askew in an imbued smirk. He loves the fact that Gabi can so effortlessly bounce back and forth between being an ingenue and a fucking tease. Perhaps she had been putting up a facade. Just like he had been behind his calm and collected walls. Almost hereditary, like a pre-installed software. It depends how good a technician Gabi really would prove to be. Eloquence escaping him at the moment, he lets his facial muscles do the talking instead. He doesn’t need any excessive and extraneous words to express just how blissful he really feels. 

In his own demesne, taking in her word as her profile becomes his only cynosure, his body feels like it’s about to take an excursion as his astral body exits his physical carnality. Like smoke from the smoldering coals rising off to transform into an ectoplasm, becoming larger as it transforms into sempiternal bonfire as the vestigial amount gets a helping hand of the whirling gust. A complete set, the dazzling panoply of his essential feats. The missing puzzle in the center he longed and coveted to find. The void that couldn’t be filled up finally brims with opulent elixir with Gabi’s entrance to his life. In too deep, into the abyss of the ocean, deeper than the Pacific ocean ridge. It’s fatally irreversible as cellular cavitation, his whole existence turned upside down. It’s a blessed catastrophic event, a denouement to his lifelong search of a perfect partner in crime.  

Now his mind travels to the deepest corner, filled with gossamer of cobwebs, the most hidden and dank room behind all the rusty, creaky doors. He doesn’t have to put too much effort to imagine how the establishment would be. The corridors where he had gone through agonizing, viscera-tearing pain would be filled with vigorous and zealous club-goers and the soundproof, presentation room where he had sealed many covetous and groundbreaking deals, at the same time, where gushing amount of blood had flowed in streams, the sickening stench immediately awash with bleach and disinfectant. Knowing Darko’s personality, to match his equally ruthlessly sadistic streaks and obstinacy, he wonders why that fucking motherfucker hadn’t bothered him yet. Perhaps the severity of his injury had gotten through the thick skull of his. Like evidence photographs from the crime scenes, each writhing and slithering movements, how each ounce of his weight had been the utmost burden. It would be strikingly evident, clear as a day with the streak of blood painted all over the concrete floor and the bleak, chipped off walls of the underground floor. 

Feeling like two different frequencies playing into each of his ear simultaneously for his brain to synthesize into a third frequency, which makes him to experience traveling into a disparate state of mind, he lures into the most deepest slumber he ever had within the past few months. The last thing he remembers before doing so is pulling the sheet over their clumped together form, tightly pressed with not even an inch parting from each other. With the complete shuteye, the blackness instantly surrounds him, locking in the frame of the bed. His hand gingerly placed on her curve of the waist, another falling off the edge of the bed. 

Still not fully shifted to being an early worm, his old nocturnal habits are hard to break. They die hard. The sure thing that rouses him is the blinding light contouring through his lean form. The sheets coiled around his legs, the unmistakable scent, the sure evidence of their nighttime activity still clings onto his skin in splotches. He could almost smell the petrichor in the air, along with the foliage of the leaves as birds chirp away, acting as a natural alarm clock. His body feeling like a ton, the soreness from the strenuous activities taking a toll on his still recovering body. Of course, as stubborn ass he is, he doesn’t want to admit the fact his body needs refractory period. Hands on his Deltoid and Trapezius, he stretches his neck and springs up, like a aggravated cobra. 

___

Just as she was finishing the omelet and getting ready to put it on a plate, she heard her name being called. “In the kitchen.” A smile spread across her lips, and she couldn’t contain her excitement, it was so amazing to wake up with someone else that liked you just as much  _ (hopefully) _ as you liked them. There was a sort of pleasing satisfaction knowing they had fucked and promptly fell into bed together to fall asleep in each others arms. It was kind of sweet, and they had a good time at the opera despite some… intense last half of the show moments, and that insanely sexual tension filled limo ride. It made her shiver just thinking about it now. Food on plates she set them on the small table, and looked for silverware.

When she turned around she saw Nigel standing in the doorway to the kitchen watching her. She looked down and realized she wasn’t wearing pants or underwear.  _ Fuck…  _ “I hope you don’t mind, I used all the eggs.” Her face was beet red, she didn’t know why she was so embarrassed, they had slept together after all, he had seen the whole show and then went backstage afterward to meet the band. “I don’t have any clothes, besides my dress, so I borrowed a shirt…” she trailed off mumbling. Looking up, her body broke out in goose bumps, he was staring at her like she was a juicy steak and he was a hungry werewolf. He was such an enigma, an interesting book with many secrets and layers upon, upon layers. There was no way to just open his pages and jump in the middle.

She suddenly realized that the robe he was wearing was not tied and hung wide open, revealing the long line of his toned body. Boy was it really hot in here. Sweating nervously, she shifted in place, thanking any holy presence for the simple fact his shirt was like a skirt on her. She didn’t feel very sophisticated, it was awkward at first, she wasn’t used to this, had she done something wrong? What if he didn’t like eggs or was allergic, panic rose in her. It dawned on her that she really didn’t know much about him at all. She wasn’t sure how she was even supposed to act.  _ UGH! What is wrong with me? _ Keeping it simple, she went with. “Good morning.” Turning back around she went to go get a glass of water, she was really thirsty, and her mouth felt like the desert.  _ Why was he so beautiful, and would he ever stop doing these things to her body? _ He didn’t even need to touch her to have her practically begging for more.

Closing her eyes she slowed her breathing, she wouldn’t have a panic attack, not here, not now. _Why was she even freaking out?_ _He slept with her, what was the big deal?_ She was still here, and he hadn’t asked her to leave so it was a good sign. Taking a deep breath she let it out slowly. The sound of birds chirping coiled its way into her ears. It was calming, and made her settle down. Running a hand through her hair, she took a drink of water. It was cooling and just what she needed. Turning back around she wore a smile. Whatever the reason was it was that made Nigel like her she was glad. If he didn’t want her here, then she was 100% sure she wouldn’t be here. It put her nerves to rest remembering that small detail. Shaking her head, some hair fell into her eyes, and she looked up again at last. “Did you sleep ok?”

Letting herself finally look him over in the brighter light, she had to admire his lovely skin tone, and how well it made his eyes stand out, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. Clinically she glanced at the injury assessing how it was healing, after all it had been her hands that fixed the stitches, it appeared to be fine, and the sutures had held. They could probably be removed now; she’d ask him after breakfast if he wanted her to do it for him. They probably itched like crazy the way healing scabs often did. There would be a large scar afterward, running the length of his side. It would always stand as a reminder of the first few days of their meeting. Clearing her throat she got a glass of water for Nigel and sat down at the table.  The omelet would be getting cold, but she didn’t care it was food. Watching him from where she sat, she had to cross her legs, fully aware of the fact, she wasn’t wearing any underwear. This made her grin feeling devious. 


	47. Chapter 47

Still enveloped in the faint layer of cloying sweetness and his distinctive musk, he can only perceive and define this as adrenaline still firing across the synapses. The previous night had been full of mood rollercoasters, him on the edge of the seat as he shifted until the ends of time, all bundle of nerves as his mind buzzed eternally as if he had been surrounded by agitated wasps. Each jubilation sending him a jolt more powerful than any other drug he had shot himself with. All the conversations, mostly in perturbed silence and diving headfirst into the most unknown feat of all - _ love, happiness, hope and dreams  _ he contained inside a Pandora’s box unfolds. Once it opens, there’s no containing it. It’s more powerful than malignant cancer spreading across all the organs and his wound, fueled by his pleasant state of mind. The scabbed line slithering up his side brushes against the garment and the tingling sensation immediately has his typically slouched posture straightened like a strung up spring. A dramatic sigh as he bites off his chapped lip, a fingertip running over the indistinctness of the suture line and radiating pink, aglow by the shading sun-ray.  

All the tossing and turning as his mind had been locked behind the bars of his own figments of imagination, along with the rewindable feature of the video, all recorded down to nanoseconds, repeatedly playing over and over. All those years of entrapment in his head. The scariest form of fear is when everything unfolds in the form of love, the concept so distant and foreign, short-lasting and nonexistent. Contentment is translated and visualized in the form of his violent streaks. Wantonly lost in the translation, the skewed, perverted, misconstrued. The painted redness looks peerless as the perfect stroke over the painting. The one stroke tying the whole composition together. It wasn’t the end of his world, the drag of the melted sugar until it reaches the breaking point. As the time went on, he had to learn to accept things that just weren’t meant to be. Like searching for his missing half, that last crucial missing, shattered piece that will hold the vessel and the contents together. 

And here he is at it again, creating the whole new world now with Gabi in his life. Like the grandeur of the opera, the overture to climax to its denouement, his whole first chapter of life summarized in that character-defining piece. Everything feels too good to be true, like defying gravity. As predestined and inborn. Having born as a super-fish like salmons, adjusting to his life in freshwater and saltwater. Both accommodating the apex and nadir of his fluctuating finances and happiness. Going through adjusting periods as fish smolted to literally swim with the tide, their demanding trip to upstream home begins only to spawn and meet their indubitable demise. As salmon did to navigate fish ladders in dams and other human created obstacles along the way, his tumultuous life had his own shares of enemies and what seemed impenetrable until he met Darko. The only male he would ever entitle a close friend and a loyal associate. 

Lips stretching wide as he yawns, like a male lion stretching after a nap under the dazzling shades of Sahara sun. His mane spread out in all directions, as he rakes to tame the unkempt hair, knotted muscles stretch and emit successive pops over the shoulders. “Of course I don’t fucking mind. We could get some more anytime.” His tone low, but intonation highly pitched, he futilely suppresses another prolonged sigh, exhalation contracting and fluttering his lean muscles and closes in his distance as he unnecessarily gracefully dances across the kitchenette, padding in long strides. With her remark about wearing his clothes, he lets a spreading grin do the talk. “Morning.” With a cock of his head and the crease around the corner of his hazel pool curving, he could literally hear her breath have a recoil, just like he would feel the sound of column of air pushing to have an echo of its own. “The fucking best one in weeks, although old habits die hard. I’m simply not an early bird.” Voice a bit jagged with parchedness, he briefly feels his groin press just above the dip of her spine.  

Taking a peep over her shoulders as chin dips down against the curve where the open collar of his shirt stands, an arm effortlessly curls around her waist, as if it belonged there for ever. Unfurling it as he feels the fleeting scent of his own musk still plastered on her skin, he opens the fridge, sticks his head inside to retrieve an unopened can of spicy salsa. The expiration date dangerously close. “I don’t know about you, but I like my eggs fucking spicy.  _ More pungent and potent _ , the better.” Cross-legged and his posture tilted and slouched off to the side, he could feel the contraction of his stomach, more than the growling of his stomach as his body screams in desperation, the snapshot of this particular video file sticks out as everything seem to gleam like gold. His core glowing like coals in a bonfire, in complete eagerness, he delves into the task. With a quench of his cotton-mouth, the piquant salsa caressing every inch of tastebuds. The eggs itself spot-on to his liking. Luscious and fluffy like foam, instantly melting in his mouth. “Compliments to the chef.” With a pleased nod as the green specks in his eyes flicker, offsetting the orange hue as they radiate with vivacity, he literally buries his head into the plate, eating like a starved child. 

___

They ate in relative silence, like with most things, their need to talk wasn’t urgent. They had an easy roll of a good time, always in a comfortable companionship. Never forced into awkward small talk. She watched him eat for a few minutes, he was magnificent in everything he did. Always a regal stoicism about him. She herself passed on the salsa, it wasn’t something she wanted to start her morning with, but she wasn’t about to begrudge him of his enjoyment. When he complimented her food, her whole face lit up, bright and cheerful, a pink hue spread across her cheeks. “Thank you.” It made her happy to know that he liked her cooking, she wasn’t the best cook there was, but she was always willing to learn new recipes. Beaming at him, it was so strange to have another person make her so happy. And it was a two way street, she wanted to make him happy also.Nothing pleased her more than to see him in a good mood.

Finishing the last few bites on her plate, she rest her head on her hand, elbow on the table. With everything still being so fresh in her mind, she was a little nervous, but nothing like she had been last night. It was a lot less stressful now. There was so much that she would like to do to him. Some of the thoughts that crossed her mind shocked her. Gabi was not at all a very violent person. She had never been in a fight before. Always one to prefer to talk things out if necessary, but the ideas that ran around her brain, were not very nice. There was a very strong need to bite him on the neck, and suck hickeys onto his skin until he looked like a vampire victim.  The image made her shift uncomfortably in her seat. Just the idea of doing those simple things, turned her on. Biting on the pinkie finger of the hand that she rests her head on, she couldn’t help staring. It was hard to believe that any of this was even happening. Her mind wandered to the press of his body against hers a few moments ago. It had been incredibly hot; it took all her will power not to make bizarre inhuman noises.

Generally curious she inquired. “So do you have any plans for today?” Depending on how he answered, she might spend the rest of the day here. She couldn’t seem to get enough of his company, and she didn’t want to go home. Things were much more interesting with him around. If he didn’t have plans she might run home to grab some clothes, she thought it over, it wasn’t a bad idea. It might be fun to spend a whole day with Nigel. She didn’t want to be too eager, but she couldn’t help but want to learn more about him. She felt a real connection with this strange man, and it was all so new to her. She had been on simple dates before, but never dated anyone. The idea of having sex regularly was also very appealing, now that she had gotten a taste of the forbidden fruit she couldn’t get enough.

How two people so different, could enjoy each others company so well was beyond Gabi. Some things just had no explanation. It was clearly a case of opposites attract, it wasn’t even the age difference either. He didn’t really act his age though. It was easy to forget that he was in his 30’s and she could tell he was like a fine wine, he would only get better looking with age. Men had it lucky like that, many times they always looked better as they aged, and it really wasn’t fair. Taking a deep breath she could still smell the proof of last night’s actives lingering in the air. It was the distinct smell of sex that she would never forget. And back into the gutter her mind went. Replaying the scene of the crime, over and over in her head. It sent a shiver down her spine. The first chance she got she would like to repay the kindness of him going down on her. She had never given another person head before, but she was dying to try. The brief kiss she had place on his erection, had been interesting and not unpleasant. Given time she’d like to explore it in detail.

With a sly grin, she sat smoldering, and giving him a heated look, eyes half hooded. She was in the mood to mess around, and she didn’t care who knew it. Whatever he had done to her it had lit some wicked unquenchable fire in her. If food hadn’t been her number one priority this morning, she probably would have climbed back into bed to feel him up for the hell of it.  _ Guys liked to be woken up like that right…. ?  _ Head tilted to the side biting her little finger; she couldn’t stop picturing doing awful things to him. It felt so good to be naughty,  _ what had she been missing out on her whole life _ . An idea came over her, and it made her giddy with pleasure. Lifting one of her long legs up, she reached out, and ran her foot up the inside of his left leg. She had seen women do it in movies before, and she had always been dying to try it. Now was her perfect opportunity. Sliding her foot slow as molasses up his leg, she let it rest on the chair between his legs, and gave him a very light nudge. She met his eyes with a smirk. 


	48. Chapter 48

If he had been completely oblivious to the bodily needs, then he would’ve skipped breakfast in entirety to venture into something else. The feeling of being cared for was undeniably foreign. Having been living off of wobbling tower of take-out containers and stale frozen processed foods inside the fridge at times when he had been taking days off from work, the freshly cooked anything by anyone, especially hands of a woman is quite refreshing yet outlandish. How the most simple things in life would bring senses of the feast. There had been days filled with raindrops that fall like tears squeezed from his eyes. Once he stepped outside of the flat, his only transient safe haven, he had locked himself and stayed between invisible bars. Never the one to expel a sliver of emotion other than sheer anger and truculent nonchalance. His uncharted emotions merely hidden behind the impenetrable vessel, desperate to be poured out. It was his knight’s armor and visor he willingly wore. 

Letting out a small radiating curve and pull of his lips, he watches the last fluffy clump mop up the juice and he is reminded yet again of how he too, had been forged of flesh and blood and skeletons, just like everyone else. Overcoming hardships and making his way up to get to where he is now, he had put his heart into anything and everything that was related to work. Working as busy as a beaver, through the tunnel vision as the size and venue grew like an empire. Here enters Gabi, on the verge of himself slipping from everyone’s mind, making scars from sinister sweep of the blade turn into stardust. He still can’t help but to wonder, out of all the faces he had painted in figment of his imagination, how did he find one so perfect for him. If the melodious tune had the face, the god he doesn’t believe in had batted a thousand.  _ The blinding lightness to his ominous darkness, a queen fit for a criminal king of a mastermind.    _

Popping in the last morsel and practically cleaning the plate clean until there was no need to put it in the dishwasher, brows raise as his hips shift towards her direction. “Unless Darko starts to back and summons my fucking ass down at the club, I’m free as a bird.” Stretching his neck and running a hand over the thick collar of the robe where the tattoo glistened with a film of sweat glistening under the daybreak, he follows the motion and completes it with a wipe of his lips, over with the sleeve. “I was thinking to take you someplace dear to my heart on my bike, perhaps a little outing or a picnic of some sorts.” Gabi had shown her passion,  _ quid pro quo _ , it was his time to reciprocate. Besides all of his debaucheries and fueling himself on the murderous gauge akin to a ticking time bomb, toying with men’s life as he sees fit. So curious, how a feared man’s muscles fluttered, the foliage wavering in the breeze as the caustic halo etches and irreversibly besieges the body. Like a carefully coordinated detonation. He could feel the honeyed scent wheeling around him like spinning merry-go-round. The landscape holds dear to his heart in the recess of his mind; an abruptly ended childhood which made his young, immature and volatile life even more to be cherished, but life had been hard, as even roses need both rain and sunshine to grow. Basking in the sunshine in the midst of downpour.   

The plate pushed away, lips close in to grope against half-empty or half-full cup and that’s when he feels Gabi’s foot glide northward, slithering like a snake and yet again, placing him in invisible mold. No amount of quenching liquid would be able to extinguish the suffusing flame kindled inside the core. Hazel pools turn into coals, embers dance as angry fists beat against the ever-glowing surface. It’s as if she had invaded and plucked out a string of never-subsiding strand of thought. How to let go of this inescapable control. Acting as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Again, when lightning strikes such as this, as he couldn’t ever predict how she will act around him. Turning into the vixen with her now smeared jet black, accentuating her stark porcelain with the deep-set of her gray-blue. The coal and air to his fire. 

Feigning coyness as he feels the air, the only closest definition he can come up with is a soaring arousal whipping through each of the vertebrae, hurtling around him as the crossed right leg reflects her movements. The tip of the tongue licking behind his teeth, his gaze becomes more pungent with intense burn. Being intoxicated and consumed by this buildup comes effortlessly, as he feels more in his bones. The prey will never know its innards are imbibed until all it’s left are the construct and exuviated skin. Strung up like a bow, he watches the tablecloth match his carnal reaction as a gentle ripple grows tumultuous like a gale. It’s that instant like a flick of a switch. “I-I was gonna fucking suggest we take a shower together.” He doesn’t have to look down to confirm nor to egg himself on to register his erection responding to the touch. If she wants to arouse him until the surge of smoldering heat lets go of that strung up bow, then he himself, cannot even predict what he will do to her. 

____

Blissfully enjoying herself getting to tease Nigel this made her feel powerful, like she had some semblance of control. When she felt him growing hard her heart started to pound in her chest. She was about to run the tip of her one toe against the length of his erection, but Nigel popped her little bubble. A shower… together, maybe he didn’t want to mess around right now. Wilting like a flower she removed her foot, feeling flushed and awkward. She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “So shower and then a bike ride. Got it.”  She would definitely need to go home for a change of clothes now. Feeling guilty for assuming that it was ok to just do inappropriate things to him with out asking, Gabi got up to clear the table. She needed something to do with her hands. Anything for a distraction. 

Not wasting any time she took the plates to the sink, it was a quick clean up, and she washed the pan she had used also, now that it was cooled off.  After she dried her hands she turned around. “I’ll need to run home after we shower to change my clothes, it shouldn’t take me long.” She was doing her best not to fidget with the dish towel. Wishing she had pants or something on, she scratched her nose. She really wanted to play her cello right now. Any little bit of confidence it gave her would really be helpful and make her feel more at ease. She was feeling stupid, and moved into the main room to look for her underwear. They had disappeared last night at some point during their love making. She lifted up cushions on the couch, and finally found them under the couch instead. It had been her idea to ask him what his plans were,  _ was she over stepping her bounds did he if obliged to take her some where? _ She hoped that wasn’t the case.She slipped her thong back on even if she would be taking it off again in a little bit, it made her feel better.

Sitting on the floor legs straight out in front of her so nothing showed of her girly bits, she sat deep in thought. She was angry with herself, and feeling like a fool. Not feeling her usual cheerful self was always jarring. But alas the sun cannot always shine, and even once in a great while it has a dark period, a solar eclipse. She was feeling emotional and hated it. She didn’t like being girly, and every time she had strong emotions she felt like crying so it only made it worse. There was no way in fucking hell she would cry here while in Nigel’s flat, she’d rather chew sand. Instead she pinched the inside of her arm. Sighing she got up off the floor it was cold and her ass was starting to go numb. She was pretty sure she was being dumb, but she couldn’t help the way she felt. Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t quite place it.

Heading back into the kitchen she noticed that Nigel wasn’t there any longer. He must have moved into the bathroom or went to get clothes from the bedroom. She picked up her almost empty glass of water to take a drink. She wasn’t altogether looking forward to taking a shower with him. At least now that she thought maybe he didn’t want to mess around it would be kind of awkward. To make matters worse she never got a shower with anyone else before. She was batting a thousand here with Nigel in less than a week. She had done so many things she never had before and all because of him. It really made her feel her age. Would he one day turn around and see her for the kid she was and realize that it wasn’t what he wanted. It hurt to think about sometimes she hated over thinking things, her mind never shut off. It was always something. Anything was possible at this point it was so early on.It was hard to tell what would happen.

She removed Nigel’s abandoned glass from the table and along with hers taking it, and  place them in the sink for later. She didn’t feel like washing them right now. At this point she was just stalling. There was no more putting this off, so she made her way into the bathroom. He found Nigel there already naked and adjusting the settings on the shower. He had placed a towel and a wash cloth on the sink for her and she picked up the cloth. Before getting in the shower she wanted to wash off her dark make-up while she could see in the mirror. She couldn’t bring herself to watch him get in the shower nor did she feel like staring at him at all. Fresh faced at last, she turned to face the music. Unbuttoning Nigel’s spare shirt she folded it neatly on the edge of the sink, and slipped out of her thong. Finally she got in the shower facing away from him. 


	49. Chapter 49

His core tethering with each passing second, he feels that unmistakable lick over his spine, which can be only translated to a soaring arousal. Like a metronome moving in adagio, his erection slowly sleepwalks over between his quavering muscles, suddenly finding see-sawing between shivering cold and tinging rosy pink by the candlelight aglow in his core. The lub-and-dub almost creates a foreign, third frequency, beats drum against his ear as his tensed up knots abruptly and unexpectedly uncoils. His breathing returning more steady and evened out. Shifting in his seat like a child who expects to get his check-up at the doctor’s office, but hoping to behave himself to his best in order to get the lollipop and a gold star stuck smack dab in the center of his forehead, he expectantly looks up, still petrified as little jerking movements escalate into a throe. Just about to succumb to her as hands clutch around the edge of the table, white-knuckled as thighs unconsciously part more to invite her in, her legs withdraw from him. 

_ Has he given off a sense that this wasn’t to his consensus? _ He was so curious and wanted to know a little more as he pushed her further. Still reeling from the bubbling vibrations of his lower abdomen and a continuous droplet contouring the toned front, the afterthought of a sensation still affects him nonetheless. Like a blurred and faded photograph. Maybe it was her astral body still clinging onto his body like a supernatural phenomenon. “I was thinking it’d be good for both of us.” He can’t help, but is almost startled by how his voice shakes like reeds swaying in the wind. His body almost outside of his jurisdiction at the moment. It has the tension that he cannot even control, but he feels like he’s dancing in the fall wind - wherever the direction it takes him.  _ Are women really fickle as a reed? He hopes not. _ From what he’d seen what Gabi was capable of doing for him, she doesn’t deserve nor could be confined to a single, simple characterization or category. All the silent communication they have shared between their breaths and how everything synchronized so perfectly until now. Maybe that’s the most prominent reason why he had feared a real relationship. All those mishaps and misunderstandings. The jagged edges corroding against the skin. Obstinate, clashing, indecisive. 

Feeling like as if someone had knuckle punched him in the gut as he plucks himself out of the whirling abyss, he still gets his hopes up as everything converges in the right place. The plates, gone, Gabi, standing in front of the sink, her back turned from him. Himself? Still feels like he’s adhered to the chair, the erection still painfully hard and he denies himself to look down. He focuses on the bit of water sitting still, like staring at that red lake. As if he had been instantly transported there, the pools grow with fiery enthusiasm yet again as the green flecks counteract the reddish alluvia. A little cant of his hips confirm that his spine is still braced in the same tenseness, drawn taut as a cord. Gabi’s voice is the sure thing that drags him out of the unfathomable well of brooding pensive. 

“While you make a run for clothes, I was going to have my bike spick-and-span for the ride.” Hoping to take her to the cabin he owns by the  _ Lacul Roșu _ \- aptly and so fittingly translated as  ‘Killer Lake,’ the ride to the  _ Bicaz Gorge _ would be almost close to six hours. A little long for a weekend ride, but as it offers most picturesque view, it would be all worth the effort. Each of them in their own head-space, their mingled aura finally settles within their personal space as he feels the weighty gloominess tinge and seep through his skin once again. It’s almost as if Gabi doesn’t exist in the same space anymore - he hasn’t expelled her completely as he sways between. Him even trying to question his actions is something foreign. Governed by a glut of self-assurance and imperturbable self-poise, the scowl etching the bridge of his nose and crow’s feet deepens under his broad palm, grazing over his dry, hard skin as he slips off the robe, tossing it in the hamper.  

Gathering extra towels and wash clothes from the dresser, he silently and stealthily pads through the threshold, hiding behind the sliding shower doors for now as he fiddles with the temperature. Feeling worse than being stuck in the pandemonium, creatures skewing the reality and distorting all the time and space, he lets himself immerse in a cascade of steamy water.  _ Nothing is smooth sailing in his books.  _ Trying to give an awkward small talk a whirl, he rallies, even if it’s too much of a hassle. All the more reason to let Gabi know, if she have been ever thinking what she had done was improper. “How do you feel about lakes and trails? Get some fucking fresh air on an even keel, in keeping with our... relationship.”  

____

The sound of his voice makes her jump like a cat whose tail just got stepped on. It rattles her out of her gloomy stupor. More surprised by him attempting small talk with her than by his question it caught her off guard. She realized her mood was pointless. They probably could stand to talk a little more to prevent confusion such as now. It had to be a simple matter of mixed up understanding. He wouldn’t be offering take her some where if he didn’t want to spend time with her. There was no need to infect him with her sudden and unnecessary gloom. That fact that he was trying so hard to reach out to her made her smile. It as was if the strange emotion that had effected; her never had. Feeling like her normal infectiously cheerful self again she turned around. If nothing else she owed him an explanation.  

Firstly she answered his question. “I love the outdoors.” It wasn’t a lie she loved being outside, and hiking, and taking the road less traveled. At last she looked at him and completely forgot why she had been in a bad mood just a few minutes ago. There was no doubt that Nigel was drop dead sexy, but being under the water multiplied it ten fold, dripping wet and hair plastered to his forehead. She wanted to bite her knuckles to keep from screaming. There seem to be a pattern of her asking herself why he was so fucking beautiful. WHY? No seriously…Remembering herself, when she finally picked her jaw off the bottom of the shower. “I’m sorry if I seemed a little distant, I think I misunderstood you wanting to take a shower as meaning you didn’t want to… um.” It came out hurried and jumbled. She cleared her throat searching for a word that didn’t sound silly.  _ Ugh what the hell Gabi, get a grip. _ “Fuck… I mean, that is not what I meant to say.”  _ Oh fuck, fucking hell just what the fuck ever.Dammit…. _

She stopped talking full stop, and just looked at him. The sound of the shower was so loud it sounded like a torrential down pour of rain. Everything narrowed down in that moment to a few heart beats. _ How could she have ever thought to deny him anything?  _ The mood that she had instilled between the two of them when she first entered the shower had been like an awful cloud of smog blanketing their auras. How mistaken she had been, to have walked away from the heat of the moment earlier. It all came flooding back to her now like a tsunami. She was bright red in the face, so much so that her skin could probably give her hair a run for its money. The look he gave her made her stare back at him startled, she felt like an ant under a giant magnifying glass. All that heat trained on her, and libel to burn if she stayed under it too long. It sent a shiver down her spine, and a wave of arousal so strong she had to place the flat of her hand on the cool title to steady herself.

They stood face to face like two trees swaying in the gentle breeze of an early spring. Neither one dared move first. There was such a strong urge to meld herself against his body she thought she might faint.  _ How could someone turn her on so thoroughly with just one look? _ It was as if his gaze was a walking wet dream, an instant orgasm with just one gaze, it was so palpable you could practically bottle it and sell it to the masses.  It would be a gigantic hit, the thought made her shudder with memories from the night before. Licking a dry lip she stood braced against the wall of the shower. It was like a western stand off. There was a joke in there some where about the town not being big enough for the both of them. More like it was barely big enough for Nigel alone. Pulse hammering in her veins, she blinked very slowly.

When she opened her eyes, she moved first. She threw herself at him and pressed herself up against his body. Under the spray of the water she was drenched in seconds, hair matted to her face. The force of her motion had backed Nigel up against the wall, and she kissed up his chest. Slippery hands held on to his sides, and she steadied herself to meet him in a kiss. It was a hard press of lips, teeth nipping, and tongue lashing out like a whip. Biting his lower lip harder then she intended, she pulled away long enough to brush slick hair away from her face. Still panting she dove back in for another kiss. She let her hands roam lower, one gripping his ass, and the other feeling the erection grow between his legs. It made her insanely wet knowing he wanted her just as bad, and it had nothing to do with the water pouring over them, steam rising to the ceiling. Breaking their kiss once more, she started trailing feather light ones all down chest, when she got to his abdomen she rest her head there cheek pressed to his stomach. She had to take a breath she was panting very hard. Finally she continued kissing lower, before she got to her knees before him, and paused to look up the long line of his figure.  _ Dear god he looked even better from this angle and bigger…. _


	50. Chapter 50

Through the torrent, he makes out the patches of sunlight, the small clearing behind the packed woods, a little bit outskirts of his property. The visualization alone is enough to do the trick as his brooding mood brightens a bit. The vehemence of an oak tree overseeing the lush reeds and shrubs, along with the dock with the rowboats in the neck of the woods. If they were still unused and didn’t get swept away with the current, that would offer another leisurely endeavor along with the coveted serenity. The explosion of foliage as if buckets of paints dumped all over the  [ Eastern Carpathians ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eastern_Carpathians) chain, the place itself is simply put, bittersweet. Like the rich and smoky taste of bittersweet chocolate, the nature is what instantly hurtles him back to the long-gone childhood and ill-fated, abruptly ended relationships that turns into burnt out candle with no wick to sustain the flame. Only remains, suffocating ashes scatter and taint the deepest corner of his unconscious, as chimneys beneath the deep ocean where no one ever dared to venture forth would pump out noxious gases. It’s so painfully difficult to not rub this in so much, as this is the only subject he gets hopelessly sentimental in, and hoping to take Gabi there to mend and emollient the afflictions and sufferings, he hopes she would eventually understand this.  _ One day, in the long run.    _

Shoulders slouching, all the tense spots melt away as downpour of hydraulic pressure turns into an invisible and skilled hands of a masseuse. Hitting the spots where it would bother him the most when he ran himself into the ground. Thanking the cascade of water and his ashen blond hair with flecks of dark gray in between as he lets himself wash over the stream, The dead silence depletes his energy. It’s as if he had offered a reluctant hand out to an illusion, an invisible film of screen leading him to an another dimension. As most relationships are -  _ everything seems to hit it on the nose and with one detour, everything scrambles to be irreversible calamity. _

His hazel pool can register her in whole, still behind him in a materialized and tactile form. With a careful spread of his fingers as he closes the distance, the mere silhouette of the outline dissipates into the thin air as the mirage becomes an ectoplasm. Like the churning froth traversing and surrounding the bathroom. It feels like he had been dizzied with a good, forceful knuckle sandwich in the mouth as his head recoils back from the blunt force, the bones disintegrating into stardust, the boiling blood expands his veins as piston of red causes his heart to break out of the mold.  _ Maybe that’s why ribcage is called ‘cage,’ his heart and everything else defies the idea of confinement. _ He could still feel the plumpness from the knocking-him-off-his-fucking-feet kiss from the previous night and feel the palpitation serving him as the horsepower of the bike, pumping pistons as the heavy metal reverberates between his strong legs. 

With that one charged gaze, he knows everything fell back into the proper place, the brief duration of them falling apart and emotionally distant made up with a strong magnetic pull. Having sunk underneath the abysmal pool, then plucked out as quickly as he soars from the whirling current, his drenched hair parts like the Red Sea to reveal his wanton enticing face, his usual smoldering heat bringing him back to life. He wonders with Gabi around him at all the time, if he can ever maintain his sanity. The right jockey to the uncontrollable and obstinate stallion. The fuel and oxygen to his smoldered candlelight, the coal burning to cause a walloping wildfire. The paradigm shifts once again as he breaks the deceptive barrier as lips part, penetrative gaze locked as the rifle’s viewfinder focuses onto his sole target.  

Although she is a lightweight, the sheer enthusiasm multiplies the force and he is thrown back against the tiles, the steamy deluge intensifying the insatiably consuming blaze. Beaming grin spreading his lips as his stubble chafe against her skin, he matches the all-consuming and exploring kiss. Arm circled around the dimple of her spine, no amount of water washing over them is enough to draw out the continuing whoosh of his blood and hammering heart, becoming like a loose cannon. Between intense kisses and the added sensation of insurgence, he lets unscrupulous shiver traverse his spine. Instinctively, his hips cant as his gaze drips with both prey and predator’s. “You’re reciprocating for the last night’s.. fuck..” With her hand, then the press of her cheek, then her gaze turns akin to a sunflower looking squarely at sun. Taking everything in and she giving him a fair shake. “You are.. fucking out of your mind.” A hand gently disappearing into her wet fiery locks, his head cocks to the side as another hand turns the faucet off. “You seem to have me under your spell. It’s all fucking yours.”

____

Still on her knees in front of Nigel, she stared up at him, his words echoing in her ears. She might be crazy, but it felt like a good this kind of crazy. If this was what it meant to be so, then she didn’t want to be anything else. That confidence she coveted so badly was back. Just when she needed it the most, narrowing her eyes up at him with a sultry smile. “I might be crazy, but you like it.” With her body lower than his she trailed her right hand up his leg, gripping firmly at his thigh. The other free hand still had a firm grasp on his ass, it also helped to steady herself. She had no idea what she was doing, but she wanted this so much. To taste him on her lips, and memorize every inch of skin. Going with her instincts she was running on mostly adrenaline and need.

Placing careful kisses on his thighs, she licked a long stripe there. To say she wasn’t a little intimidated by the angle of this; would have been a lie, but she wasn’t about to admit it or give in. She was as determined as ever. Even if she had no experience with this sort of thing, she could still explore his body and learn what he liked. Throwing all caution to the wind or out the window, she slid her right hand around the base of his erection. He was just hard enough that the glands stood out in stark relief, the foreskin rolled back to reveal the head. With a tiny smirk she licked the head with a broad stroke of her tongue. Even with the water washing away some of the sins from last night she could still smell herself on his skin so up close and personal with his lower body. Just getting to touch him so freely like this turned her on. She let her hand glide up and down the shaft and stroked him playfully. She was trying to get a feel for things, and she watched his face while she did so.

Listening to the rise and fall of his breathing, the way his breath hitched. Those were the small little telltale signs that she listened for. She took him into her mouth and let her tongue roll over the head. The whole time she never broke eye contact. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, she wanted to see in side and find out what his soul liked the most, to learn him as well as she knew herself. Hand still grasping the shaft of his erection she stroked him up and down slowly while sucking on him hard enough to hollow her cheeks. Her nails dug into his ass, while using her hold on him there as leverage. She pushed and pulled his hips to and fro against her mouth, so that it was a way for her to control how deep she took him in. Even with that sort of control on the thrusts moving him deeper and deeper into her mouth it; didn’t help that she wasn’t used to this. Try as she might the head of his erection still pushed her limit with her gag reflex. Every so often she had to suck on him hard to keep from drooling all over herself. She could already feel some saliva on her chin, but didn’t bother to stop what she was doing to wipe it off.

Pulling him out of her mouth for a few minutes to give her jaw a break, she stroked the head with the flat of her thumb. She let the foreskin slide, smooth and slick to envelop him, and liked the silky feel of sensitive skin between her hands. There was a unique taste to him that she liked. There were so many things she wanted to do to him, and felt like there wasn’t enough time in the day to do them all. While she continued to stroke him, she leaned forward to place an experimental bite on the space just below his stomach. Sucking a bruise into his skin made her feel alive, and wanted to do more. Instead she trained her attention back to his waiting erection. She took him back into her mouth again, letting her teeth graze against him with out any pressure behind it. Slowly she was getting a feel for what he liked. She hoped there were many more times like this for her to explore and experiment with his glorious body.

Like a faithful worshiper she knelt at his body like it was a holy shrine to the only god she believed in. If that god was a fucking sex god… she couldn’t help the chill that ran down her whole body. Removing the hand from her grip on his ass, she placed it on her own body and slid it down until she cupped the mound of her sex. Just being this close to him naked and touching, sucking on him, made her want to touch herself. It was involuntary; there was a sort of animalistic need that Nigel brought out in her. Slipping a finger between her folds she teased herself, touching while working a steady rhythm up and down his erection. Her tongue dancing along his head and swirling around patterns. Closing her eyes she let everything fall away, just to concentration on what she was doing, everything focused on the two of them. Just how she let herself be consumed by the music with her cello, she did so now. With every little twitch and jerk of his body, she could feel herself growing wetter, it made her moan even with her mouth full. 


	51. Chapter 51

He could literally see the nine-tailed fox waggling and sensually teasing him with all of her tails. All the assets she carries with a poise, not only did her angelic music have healing emollient properties, working like an elixir as it caressed and sheathed every inch of his skin, she couldn’t be simply confined in a single definition. Of course, her deep-set orbs, as sensual and magnificent as is own, had an effect of a Medusa's gaze to fix him in the place. Fingers curled loosely around his plastered locks, he leans forward a bit, with a shake of his head as an easy grin radiates his face. He watches a droplet cling onto thick lashes and he slowly blinks, hazel still still transfixed against hers. “I’d be a fucking fat liar if I said no.” With a wipe of his defined features of his face, he meets her gaze with his equally provocative and melting gaze. The invisible fuse etches in front of him and sparks through as quickly as his soaring arousal does. Faster than a sprint of a cheetah, thigh muscles almost imperceptibly teeter as glutes squeeze tight, as he petrifies in the time and place, drowning out all the unnecessary outwardly stimulation.

The tension holding him to be tightly drawn, unyielding as the heat from the hot waterfall and a series of vigorous pressurized jet of blood gathers around the lower abdomen. His groin lurches like a rowboat in a gale as taut abdomen constricts in a tight coil, squeezed just enough for him to feel the knock of the air out of his lungs. Finding more hard to swallow and meet her eye gaze directly, his head throws back, dewlap stretching as droplets of water and surfacing film of sweat rolls off the sharp collarbones. The unmistakable tinge of redness tinting his sharp cheeks as his front teeth catches his lower lip. Hearing it smack against his teeth as he looks downward through half-shut lids. He cannot help the unrestrained bodily reaction that whips across his tingling spine - he was sure Gabi would feel every minute quivering of muscles as his toes curled slightly, pressing firmly against the ceramic bathtub. 

Letting her guide him,  _ for now -  _ at least until the strung up bow gradually tightens until it’s on the verge of breaking, his body instinctively moves to part from the cold tiles, even the stark contrast of the cold surface becomes white hot as the warm lick stimulates the length. Pronounced veins pushed close to the foreskin as the base gets squeezed. Heels of his feet lifting a bit, the urge to roughly tug her short-cut hair grows renascent, but instead, fingers splay over his side, leveraging the roll of his hips as her warmth envelops the smooth head. He could feel the slit beginning to sting with the evidence about to ooze out, his own amalgamation of typical scents. His one-of-a-kind vitae.

Mouth slack as the scalding gaze sparks against hers, he could feel his short nails and the flesh of his fingertips press firm against the tiles, beyond his patience as the palm pushes off, tugging her hair as she begins to take his smooth crown. Cords standing out from his flushed skin as his head drops, progressively growing resplendent high hurls him in a anti-gravity chamber. Floating on clouds as he relinquishes the impending thought - fucking her from behind, trapping her with the weight and broad-shouldered, toned body. If this was the poison he would take every day and no matter how far she tries to send him into the depth of that lethality, then he would gladly take the plunge without hesitancy. With each crescents she imprints and the warmth cupping over him as the flame spreads over his torso, the dripping flux of dense moisture clings and links them together, as he feels the tip graze the back of her throat. It is a marvel to watch, as he wonders just how compact she is compared to his chiseled features and how she can take his considerable length down relatively easily without gagging. 

As she places a bruising mark on just between his stomach and groin, he could feel the overflowing liquid awash between the velvety sleeves and the veinous flesh, and when she grabs the erection once again, he cannot help but to slip an unhindered catch of breath as his crown drenches in the fluid. He could feel the onslaught of insatiable voraciousness stirring up from his gut. Watching intently as she begins to stimulate her sex, the bestial need to fuck her escalates until that cord breaks. As soon as he sees an opening for his advances and with her vision hindered, he moves like a composed predator, his movements correlated and calculated to not waste any single step or flow. Hands tightly around her waist, lifting her up as the need to taste himself with her lips as his orbs flash with hot gleam. Lips molded tightly as consuming and frenzied kiss continues, hands cup under her ass, lifting her up as the force of his body pouncing at her body pins her between the steamed shower door and his own hot-blooded one. 

____

Taking by surprise she let out a little gasp just before their lips lock, and she is aggressively kissing him, hands behind his head fingers interlace. Pulling his head closer almost as if she was trying to meld their faces together. Being pinned up against the glass shower stall has her panting, and wanton. The inner muscles of her sex contract forcefully tightening with need. It was making her forget anything and everything but this right here in the moment.  All she could do was cling to him and hang on. Hands carding through his hair and pulling. Breaking their forceful kiss, she lets her lips slide against his cheek to rest against his ear. Panting hard and grinding her hips against his hard waist she whispers. “Oh fuck me.” All she wanted right now was for him to be inside her and fucking her hard against the glass.

She could feel the hard press of his erection near her entrance, it was like he was teasing her and it made her needy and weak sounding. “Please, just fuck me.” It sounded so odd in her head to hear herself begging like that. There was something to be said about being so turned on she didn’t care about swearing or being polite or even being nice. It was just a raw animal need to fuck, and be taking by him. She wanted to be claimed and to claim him right back. To mark his skin with hickeys and bite marks. Sliding her hands down his back she dug her nails in raking, and leaving marks. She wanted every debauched thing she could think of. Rough, and gentle, there was something of a challenge in knowing there were so many ways for them to fuck, and so many different places. She wanted it all, every surface of this flat to be left with impressions of their naked bodies.

The cool press of the glass felt so good against the heat of her flushed form. It was like the dark side of the moon compared to the front where it was like the surface of the sun. The heat radiating off the both of them was immense. She could feel herself with out being able to help it, rutting up against his body, she wanted it so bad. There was no thought behind her actions any longer it was taken over by a natural built in autopilot. Sliding a hand down between their bodies, she gripped his erection firmly. She was pumping him between her curled fingers a few times, then angled herself just enough so he could push his way into her entrance. While her hand was down there guiding his erection into her, she could feel just how wet she was. The amount of bodily fluid that was coming from her was enough to lubricate a god damn slip n slide. It marveled her that she could get that wet,  _ was it even humanly possible _ .

With him working himself inside her, trying to make a space for himself. She could feel that almost uncomfortable stretch, but it was just this side of pleasurable and on the right side of painful that turned her on even more. In time she knew that her body would adjust to accommodate him comfortably with out the pain. Everything was still new, and it was exhilarating to be able to do this any time she wanted. By the time she realized he hadn’t worn a condom she didn’t fucking care. There was no stopping this, not now. There was a sort of sick thrill she got from throwing the rule book out. In made that small fire in her soul breath and come to life, curling itself around Nigel’s bonfire heart. No she wanted this, she had woken the beast she would lay it to rest. All the consequences were on her, and right now she didn’t give a fuck about anything but being fucked by Nigel.

Stilling clinging to his body, she grind her hips against his, legs wrapped so tight around his waist it hurt. For a few seconds she laid her head back against the glass and stared at him. Their faces were so close together and since their height different wasn’t overly dramatic being able to stare him in the eye was extremely intimate. There gaze locked, and they just practically eye fucked each other at the same time as their bodies. She had to look away first, so she rest her head in the spot between his neck and shoulder. She took a deep breath inhaling his scent like a drug, and licked along the pin-up girl tattoo on his neck. Feeling wicked and out of control, she bit him hard on the on the vein that pulsated against her tongue, hard enough to leave an impression of her teeth, it would leave a nasty bruise and the thought of that pleased her. She had no idea where this crazy destructive streak in her came from. Where ever it came from it had always been in her, lurking just under the surface. But with Nigel he seemed to bring out the worst, or best depending on who was asking; in her. With him thrusting into her, she rolled her hips to meet his, while continuing to suck on the bite mark she had made on his neck.


	52. Chapter 52

All tongue and teeth as his shadow merges and becomes one with hers, a hand spreads to perch against her breast, fondling with increasing pressure as he feels her nipple harden against his heated skin. Calloused fingers splayed over her ass and squeezing, his upper body begins to instinctively move in a gradually increasing ripple, her fluttering oscillation becoming a sure fuel to his sputtering fire, the aura surrounding him wavering as he hears ear-splitting throe of the blood rushing down, the stimulation from the earlier tease around his erection still at effect. The force of the stellar collision alone makes everything to rattle and disintegrate with the sheer force, and instantly, he steps and crosses into another dimension. It’s  _ that  _ easy with her, the air bolstering the fire within him. Never dying, always contained to be unleashed out in the open. With every inch of skin bumping and gliding across, the locked cage once again bends and breaks, the remnants shatter as the annihilating force alone makes his heart to propel up against the back of his throat, he exhales out in a gasp, meeting the side of her face as his forehead briefly quenches against the glass. 

Already spaced out from the impassioned kiss that extracts every ounce of oxygen from the pores, her invitation moves his limbs as an unexplained force charges him to feverishly slither and wanting to impale. The smooth head that had been barely pressing and gliding against her folded wetness, that kiss alone makes the spine tingle with desire, the need to feel her unquenchable heat, that rapturous pulsation without the thin sheath in the way. The clawing of her nails has his expanse of muscles to awaken, the butterfly effect at its full exploration and expansion. He doesn’t have to speak out the words of what’s imminent. The only means he lets her know is the imprint of heart against the curve of her neck as he feels the skin stretch. A gentle graze of teeth along the heat-radiating surface. A loud gasp pushing from deep within, something between a purr and growl shakes his vocal chord as all the veins concurrently work together to pump blood. At the same time, he hears the glass door rattle Her fingers around his erection fixates him in place, standing directly over the eye of the hurricane, taking him to the galaxy as the sheer discharging force drives him to lurch upward. Encircled in her inescapable furnace, her resistance easily slides past as his tight sleeve stretches to feel her every inch of winding muscles, sinuating to curve in and out as his arms entwine around her back. 

The temperature escalating to match the dense fog of steam still enveloping around them to offer another sensation to their intense lovemaking, he allows himself to be lost in the map of her body. Lips etch to burn innumerable impressions along her curvature, as forceful and voluptuously unforgiving as his raw savage nature to taste blood on his lips heightens to reach an impure level, it’s so effortless for him to be placed upon the pendulum of gentleness and relinquishing control, watching his pitch-black aura, tinged with rubicund tint of opal-like gleam dissipate to bring forth. The bane to the veins, as the universe shifts once more as his gaze orbits around her intense embodiment. Hips jutted forward, fully buried in the exquisite heat of every inch of her quavering muscles, the electric current passes through his spine, locked in fulminating gaze, about to be expelled in different directions. Before encompassed with the serenity of the wilderness and where he would effortlessly slip into a primitive, unrestricted self of what he remembers out of all the calamity, this pause feels like an  _ eternity _ . The physical distance itself is close, as he could still taste her clinging scents on his lips and their shared breaths dances and whirls between their pressed skin, offering coolness between the heat of the wildfire. 

The only composition playing inside him his own lub-dub of the base along with his cords continuing to ebb and flow with the pump of the blood.  _ Breath and fire _ , blood and pressurized air coursing through to exchange in an intercourse of thoughts and feelings between his brain and heart. Give me what you have in your sleeves. He urges with penetrating pools, the energy churning inside, desperate to be released. With the piercing of the skin, the perforation alone sends the blood to press close towards the epidermal. Neck mirroring the taut core as her molded lips over the tattoo acts like gasoline to the sweeping embers, he lets another instrument play along with the rhythm as it reaches the zenith. The rattling glass, the lascivious slap of their flesh, along with increasing fluid scoring a scorching path between his legs.  

With his hitching breath acting as a catalyst, the catalyst of shift in the position. Neck offered more for her as the livid bruise slowly turns the skin deep pink, “More, fuck.. Harder.” With a cant of his neck, he watches with a bleary view, his forehead pressed firmly against the glass. Fingers splayed over and squeezing over the globe of her ass - a silent urge to push her more into the uncharted territories. Being the subject of being the first in everything with her is exhilarating to think about. The first sex, the first lover who would dare to mark him in any way he would never ever let anyone do. If it hadn’t been the glass wall in front of him to offer him a helping hand, then he would’ve have collapsed over, letting her guide through the unexpected unknown. The relentless piston dies out to mellow down, letting the surge guide him as hot white fills both his vision and her tight sex, his own silent groan pushing against the back of his throat as the sensation effervesces around the chords. 

___

With Nigel urging her on, she obliges his begging for more and harder. She worries at the bite mark she had already made on his neck. Sliding one hand to the other side of his neck and the one to the back of his head. For a better purchase against his body. Fingers entwining through strands of hair. Forcefully she grips a fist full of hair and pulls his head back taut. Kissing him on the chin, and then trailing down to lick at the bruise just beside his tattoo. Controlling his head with her hands, she brings his face down for a crushing press of lips. Hand still pulling his head back, she breaks their kiss to trail tiny little bites down his neck, only to bite him hard almost enough to break skin. Right over the already existing mark of her teeth.

Once the seal on her control is broken, it can never go back to what it was before. There is something now living just under the surface. A lurking, coiled beast, curled around her heart like a dragon guarding its pile of treasure. And the key to the fire breathing monster are the firestones that reside within them both. Strike them together and you get something akin to Greek fire. Burning even in water and barely ever going out. It was the bane of many a fleet of ships, a deadly and agonizing fate. Never were two people more like the human embodiment of the term Fire and Brimstone. Feeding off each other, never extinguishing, and an everlasting blaze. Theirs was a type of energy that burnt cities to the ground for miles, and conquered continents. An invasion that would never leave, and would last a life time and some change. Apart they are a force to be reckoned with, but together they are a thing of nightmares. Much more dangerous as a team and to hurt one is to accrue the wrath of the other.

Just from the pressure only, of their bodies pressed together, make her so close to the edge of the abyss. Close, but not enough to push her over into the void. Rolling her hips against his hard waist, still keeping a tight hold in his hair, the other hand clutching his neck. Every so often she rocks her pelvis against his, so that her clit rubs against just the right spot. It isn’t enough, with him thrusting into her there isn’t enough consistent contact for her to get off on that alone. She wants more the need to jump into the void feet first, to much to resist. Sliding the hand she rests on his neck down the length of his body, touching and groping as it goes. Until she is able to reach between their bodies and touch herself. Everything below her waist is on fire, a light with sensation, and engorged with blood. She can feel that light head rush, and feet tingling pull. So turned on her fingers at coated with her own natural slick like she had dipped them in olive oil.

This only made her need stronger. Legs locked around his waist, feet resting in the dip of his lower back. Moving against him, her actions hurried. Her whole body is flushed red and tinged with pink spots all over. The blood coursing through her veins make her pulse hammer. Its deafening, and feels like she is wearing headphones playing only one song. There is a hunger in her body that wants them to merge as one, but they are trapped in separate bodies. It frustrates the animal inside her, and makes her more aggressive. With a strangled uncharacteristic growl, she pulls him back into a kiss, biting at his lip, tongue working their kiss deeper like he works inside her lower half.  When his movements slow down, she feels herself reach the point of no return.

Her whole form seizes up, frozen almost in place as her release hits her like a tidal wave. Pressing her head against the side of Nigel’s face, she holds on to him so tight it hurts. She is breathing so heavy her lungs working double time. Over sensitive to the touch now, she turns to liquid, all loose limbed and weak. Head sliding against his, she lets it fall against his shoulder. Forehead resting there, and panting with eyes closed. Feeling the steady throb between her legs, and trails a feather light touch across her clit with her finger tip. That alone has her writhing and jerking, mouth open wide in a gasp. She has no idea why she did it, but it’s a sort of masochist game she likes to play. The force of that sensation had the muscles of her sex contracting and griping him tight momentary while he is still sheathed inside. Laughing breathlessly she manages to say. “Sorry.” It’s not entirely serious as she enjoys torturing him just as much as she does to herself. 


	53. Chapter 53

With the dramatic arching of his neck, feeling the dewlap stretch and chords throb with the dull ache, he desperately pushes a swallow down, feeling the adam’s apple lodged taut against the paper-thin stretch of his carnality. The expanse of skin becomes the bed of coals, a gasoline to smoldered fire. The torch flaming in the thick mist. Still not coming down from the height of his blinding hot orgasm, half-shut eyes stare into an abstract, lingering twirl of steam becoming splatter of colors, blending together in his mind. It’s akin to looking upward as he sinks to the ocean deep, drowning as the world swirls to blend into an abstract painting. Nothing materialized, devoured in the whirling abyss as the puppeteer himself becomes the malleable puppet. Going with the flow, offering no resistance as long as it accumulates to the soaring arousal. He wants to stay there, although he knows any blissful high such as this is ephemeral, as most things are in his life. 

Lips ajar, his expression slackened as the air squeezes out of his lungs, the percussion of his heart reaches its maximum capacity as everything burns around him. More than the hot scalding imprint of the fat wheel against the heatwave of the asphalt on the most hot summer day, her imprints of hearts against the taut neck, over the carotid literally breaks the hydraulic dam inside him. All the hidden steel armors coming off to reveal the true self. Like a spilled dream brimming to overflow against his vessel of unconsciousness, he feels the same intense rapturous rapaciousness spill between his legs. Hotter than the molten lava, bubbling over to consume everything in its path. Like an eternally living mythical creature, born from the ashes as the churning fire transforms him into a cawing emblem of reborn idealism and hope. More than the waterfall of scalding water to turn his body into a whirling fireball, her fingertips flick the switch he didn’t know had existed. The zenith of his enrapturing orgasm had rolled past, but nevertheless, his erection, still deeply buried inside of her is swelled and fully hard with blood still fueling his frenetic movements. 

Every spark and rub of their flesh pushes and wrings his lungs and heart and her tight hold around his waist literally separates his body in two. The upper body draining the blood, as if her hands were around his windpipe, cutting the oxygen supply. The blissful lightheaded sensation accompanies him like an old company, as every inch of his muscle tightly draws, then slacks along with lunging movement of his hips. Etching his own imprints against her side and along the dimple of her back, slender fingers become talons as unhindered guttural sound pushes up from deep within. Animalistic, in their bodies’ annihilation and rumbling like the rolling thunder. Meeting her with his own ferociousness, teeth bared, he reciprocates the nipping as more fluids exchange along between them. More bones and sinews clash, hands molding and groping, the desperation to push against the invisible barrier to break her skin, to reach the most exposed and raw part of her grows urgent. Molded completely, not only in their bodies, but psyches as well. More than the shared breathes whirling between their bodies and distinction of their scents becomes infinitesimal. 

Feeling her melting onto his own heated flesh, their reverberating heartbeat echoes off against each other’s, creating the sonorous tune along with their breathless pants. Still feeling encompassed and clenched around her tight heated coil, he adjusts the temperature of the water to lukewarm. He would’ve preferred icy frigidness and that still would’t be enough to extinguish the resurgent heat still embedded in the form of steel wool and a flint, always ready to ignite the fire within him. Heart still stirred as the lingering percussion of the aorta hitches his gasping breaths. “I fucking very much know you don’t mean a single syllable of that.” A mischievous smirk skewing his lips, his tongue caresses over the tender, swollen flesh as he buries themselves under the deluge of quenching waterfall. All the tenseness from the entangled sleep disappeared as if her fingertips had been a hand of a masseuse. It’s still arduous to let the tightness all go, but one layer at a time. After all, it had taken almost thirty years to build up what he considered it to be impervious layers, unreachable by anyone, but Gabi had put a huge crack into it.    

Feeling her orgasm wreck through his body in a clashing current as the lingering afterglow basks both in the orange gleam of the morning light, their drenched body becomes the precious metal, their contrasting bodies tinge in coppery sheen and her alabaster skin adheres to almost become his own. Yin to Yang, the angel to the demon. As their most recent evidence cleanse away from their compliant forms, he throbs at the undulating contentment as hands caress over her super-sensitive skin. His erection still swell as he frees himself from the inescapable warp of her sex, he becomes the pillar as he offers both the comfort and a helping hand. Dousing themselves with another blanket of shared scents, the underlying musk of sandalwood percolate against her skin. Holding her like he would of something sacred and treasured, he gently puts her down after her heartbeat subsides into a regular rhythm, just like how his own steady and slow heart beats for her.   

____

Still trying to settle her heart down from the high of their clash, she inclines her head back to look at Nigel. There is a grin plastered to her face. It truly is a case of ‘I know that you know, that I know.” No one is fooled but it still amuses her anyways.  This is all part of the large devious game they play. Even having sex two now it doesn’t stop the flirtation. The tease itself is something she enjoys a great deal. Getting serious all of a sudden. “I might not mean it right now… but tomorrow, when this looks like a rabid animal attack. Then ask me if I’m sorry. ” At that she traced the outline of the bite on his neck. She meant it, right now she wasn’t sorry, but she would feel bad about it later.  Her guilty conscience would get the better of her. She never acted like this. It still felt wrong, and that she had done something awful. There was no doubt about it that she would hate herself for hurting him, later on. Never before this moment, had she been one to cause other people pain, but now…. She wasn’t so sure.

With a hand placed on each shoulder, she slowly and carefully peeled herself off and away from his body with his help. Finally standing in front of him, she felt sore all over. Mentally she assessed the damage. Nothing too serious, just bruises, and aches. There was something slightly satisfying about the pain though. It was very strange to be standing naked in front of him now, after the pleasure, and the arousal was dissipating like fog in a little bit of sunshine. She wasn’t embarrassed like she might have been a few days ago. It was something she would definitely need to get used to. Shy might have been the better word, but it wasn’t quite that either. With a sheepish look on her face, she scooted closer to him so they could both stand under the spray of water. It felt so good; they washed up in mostly comfortable silence. Her mind wandered to what she’ll need to grab from her house for their trip.

While washing off she could feel the soreness between her legs. It was not unbearable, and something a few pain killers would knock out. She made sure to pay extra attention to cleansing herself of any bodily fluids left over from them having sex. Even between washing up and toweling off, she couldn’t help the subtle little touches here and there. A bump of a hand, a brush of skin. They were like tiny reminders that this was all real, and all of that, had indeed happened. Toweling her hair dry, she walked naked out into the main room to check what time it was on her phone. Oh good. Her father wouldn’t be home, she knew his schedule too well. She did not wanna go home wearing some strange dress smelling like a strange place, while he was there. It would have been awkward, and she would feel like she had way too much explaining to do. Not bothering to put her thong back on, she slipped the dress on. Pulling the split side up she tied a loose knot in it so it was a short skirt instead of a long dress.

Padding back into the bedroom, she leaned against the door frame watching Nigel. He was more handsome with his hair a mess from being dried off.  It just made her want to run her fingers through it or mess it up even more. Shaking her head she had to clear it, she couldn’t afford to get distracted right now. Moving to stand in front of Nigel, she braced a hand on his stomach to reach up on tippy toes to give him a kiss. “I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes or so. I’m gonna run back to my house for some clothes and what ever I might need for the trip.”  Luckily for her she didn’t live far from the café at all. It was a short walking distance as she didn’t own a car. Blinking slowly, she stared at him for a span of a few seconds, it felt a lot longer. There eyes held, it was like they were having a conversation with out words. Some how she always knew what went unsaid. With out thinking about it, she affectionately brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead, and brushed her thumb across his cheek.

Clearing her throat she moved back. Playfully narrowing her eyes at him, trying to cover up some strange emotion she was feeling. “Be good.” With those words she fled, while she could. Why, she couldn’t really put a finger on it.  Taking her clutch purse, and phone, she slipped on her flat sensible black shoes, with the shawl draped around her shoulders and headed out. When she finally got back to her house she rushed around like a mad person. She couldn’t seem to wait to get back to Nigel, and being away from him was a little more painful than she cared to admit. She hung up her dress in the closet with the shawl, and put it in the back behind a bunch of other clothes. Grabbing underwear and a bra, she debated and finally settled on a matching set that that she didn’t wear often. She thought maybe Nigel would like it. She slipped on yellow skinny jeans with black flecks all over, and put on her well worn black Dr. Marten boots. It was slightly chilly, but nothing to cold yet, so she put on a long sleeve crop top off the shoulder black and white striped shirt. Over it she threw on a black Ouija board tank top. Black leather and flannel jacket completed the outfit. She felt way more comfortable in jeans or boys clothes than a dress.

Wearing her two favorite rings and the red cloth bracelet she always wore, she packed her backpack, transferring things from her messenger bag. Checking her phone she made sure she had a sizable playlist uploaded, and then packed a newer model instant photo camera, she thought it might be fun to mess around with Nigel. She had no idea where they were going, but she thought it couldn’t hurt. She also packed an extra pair of clothes, and went to brush her teeth. With one more check to make sure she had everything, she headed out. Running half of the way back to his flat, she felt like she was walking on air. It was exciting to get to be able to ride a motorcycle for the first time. Passing a pharmacy on her way, she looked at her phone and checked the time, she wasn’t taking that long so she went inside the store and purchased a Plan B pill. She got a bottle of water and took the pill when she was leaving, and threw away the packaging in the garbage. If she was going to start seeing Nigel she was going to need to get on birth control of some kind. She couldn’t afford to have anymore accidents like early happening. She was just now realizing how little self control she had around him. Gnawing on her lip as she huffed and finally reached the fifth floor to where his flat was. She was warring with herself on whether or not to tell Nigel about the pill, she didn’t know how he’d react. 


	54. Chapter 54

A hand slithering from her dimple down to grope her ass, he washes off the last trace of foamy white clinging onto the curve of her spine. “Unless I look like a fucking vampire victim, I speculate that I should be bloody content with it.”  _ As if what she does will be so afflicting and painful than what he had just recently gone through _ . Even with her touch removed, he could still feel the mold tight around him like a set of suction cup. Oscillating deep within from his bewitched heart. Feeling the skin elongate along with slight lift of his face, he cannot tell from this angle and the reflection off from the glass doors, but he could very well visualize the blurry stop motion of a halo, seeping into the skin in the form of the pin-up girl’s skimpy dress against the curve of the inked figure’s hips. With her frame slipped away from him, the damage is more evident. The death grip around his waist, invisible cords strung and taut around his lean waist. The newly healed, blossoming with its pink radiance gets an overcoat of flushed redness as the itchiness soars through the upper body. He could feel the scab peeling away with the bit of movement on his part.   

It indeed is a wonder just how much he had shown much of himself to her in a short span of a week. There would be more to come and although his heart maintains its steadiness and his facade and typical swagger maintains its collective calmness that he wears so effectively around relative strangers. All the others had matched his gruff exterior with equally imposing ruthlessness. A fist upon a fist, an equal match to have a crack at the impenetrable vehemence. Of course, he wasn’t the most burly in physique nor herculean in his strength, but he made up with his agile stealthiness and his somewhat quirky unpredictability. The Pandora’s box already opened, the Gabi he knew at the cafe transforms and evolves into an entity he knows he would treasure forever in his life. Always checking in balance with him, like the perfect drug that will cure his ailment. It is utterly and inexplicably odd sensation that he will welcome with an open arms anytime and anywhere along with her by his side. Sensing Gabi changing back to her innocent coy self, lips stretch to a smirk, slightly flinging a flirtatious tilt of widened grin as his pronounced and still flushed cheeks press against his soft hazel. His hand smoothing over the flocculent chest hair. 

No need for other explanation nor any distraction as he focuses solely on her presence and his own steadfast lub-dub, he shakes the excess moisture off with a dog-like swaying movements, his thick, straight ashen blond, scattered to embellish his face in the most appropriate manner. The enigma of the mankind, as he rarely had used any dryer or styling products to bedizen himself to look lavish or overly styled. With the towel wrapped around his waist, he passes on shaving the stubble and wipes his face with a single fluid motion. Meeting her imprint of heart against his own, he gives her a gentle squeeze and smack on her ass. “Don’t fucking forget to pack some extra clothes, it’ll be an overnight trip.” Locked in the posture as the bed of embers subside along to become another being, the man behind the cascading waterfall vanishes and he returns to the same Nigel outside his veil, who had been stuck in a thirty-year-old frame with a mind of a teenager. With a toothbrush sticking out his mouth and a dramatic whip of the towel as he carelessly hurls it over inside the washing machine by the sink, he runs a hand along the sensitive flesh, growing pink with flecks of black embedded underneath.  

Like a curious meerkat, he cocks his head, intently looking at her with his hazel pools fixated on her face and the lush caress along his cheek. Turning away with a spreading grin wider than the ray shifting across the bedroom floor, the etched Cheshire set in stone as he moves in autopilot. Not wasting a single movement, he gathers and throws all the necessary items inside his messenger bag; spare changes of short t-shirts and a loose-fit sweater, a black pajama pants, pre-packed travel size toiletries and his handgun, which is still sitting on the dresser where Gabi had left it. He would’ve have carried it in his back, but since he had another company, he decides against it. Throwing a few bottles of water to complete his quick and efficient packing, he dresses up in his usual attire; black leather-like jeans, which are fairly loose around his hips, but they are skin-tight skinny all around his thighs. Annoyed grunt slipping out as he tugs the front of the jeans, he rummages for a belt, shifting all the carefully folded clothes on the pile over the smaller mound of clothes intended for a load of laundry. With the belt unfastened, he zips on the buttons like a frantic child, messing up the buttons twice before getting them in all the right places, leaving a couple uppermost buttons open. The shirt is a bit lighter in its shade than black and to top it off, he swiftly slides both of his arms into a dark brown leather jacket, so well-worn that it contours around every nook and cranny of his muscles and curves. 

Flopping onto the mattress with a small bundle of thick socks clutched around his mouth, he grunts against the metal bars, feeling inexplicably lazy as he fumbles to put the socks over in the right way. Wiggling his toes inside his heavy boots, strewn over and under the bed, unattended for for months with the grime and mud still adhered around the soles, he gives each one a forceful series of taps against the metal bar of the bed and slips them on, lacing tight around his ankles. Pushing away from the luring scents still permeated all over the room, he takes a deep exhale and strides across the threshold to grab his wallet and keys. Damn, his keys. How much he had coveted to be on the road as soon as he had recovered enough. The mere thought sends his heart to piston faster than an engine of the freight train. Letting the flat reside along with its comfortable pitch-blackness, he opens the door to find Gabi standing in her flamboyant and expressive outfit, so much so that she stands out like a leopard among black panthers. “I see you’re all fucking ready and looking positively radiant.” An arm coiled around her shoulders, he chuckles, as he locks the door, turning themselves to lead her down to where his bike is perched up against the adjacent side of the building.    

___

With the sun shining bright, and rosy cheeked she greeted Nigel at the door. With a warm smile she told him. “Hello Handsome.” And she meant it; he was looking lovely as always. It didn’t matter what he wore he was always a treat to look at. Her eyes roamed over him, smile curling at the edges, when she saw him in form fitting jeans. Something about it was amusing and they made a striking pair. Like a lazy smug cat, he slung and arm about her shoulders and they made their way, back down the stairs. If she had known he would be on his way out, she probably would have waited for him down at the bottom. It didn’t really matter, she was just happy to see him again. He brightened her day, and always brought an extra light to her world being so near. It was worth the trek up all the stairs, just to get to hear him call her radiant when he laid eyes on her at the door.

Casually they tumbled down the stairs, being a little close in height made matching his stride easy. He was only about five inches taller then her, but his presence made it appear a lot more. Hand snared around his waist, she used that as a hold to not fall down the steps, or miss a beat as their foot steps fell in time. Mentally she was going over an invisible checklist of things she brought with to make sure she had everything that she would need. She had extra clothes, a night shirt, toothbrush, make-up, camera, phone, wallet, sunglasses on her head.  She would have loved to take her cello along, but there just was no way to do that.  At least not on a motorcycle, and with that on her mind. She thought of a question she could ask that wasn’t too personal, and seemed within reason. At least for not getting too deep into his unique lifestyle. “How long have you ridden a motorcycle?”

It was an innocent question, but one that wasn’t all together with out a motive. Having never been on a motorcycle before, she didn’t want to be on a six hour ride with someone who didn’t know their way around a bike. She wasn’t scared, and it excited her. It was something she had always wanted to do. But with playing the good girl, and always following the rules, she never got a chance to do so, until now. Feeling clever, she had made another purchase at the store while she was there. On her way out she walked pasted a glass case full of Zippo lighters. The one that caught her eye was [ bronze and had a bullet ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fi.ebayimg.com%2F00%2Fs%2FNTUwWDU1MA%3D%3D%2Fz%2FeQQAAOxyCQ5TlgTr%2F%2524_59.JPG%3Fset_id%3D880000500F&t=YjBjZWI3ZjliYTVkM2ZjZjc2OGRkYWM4ZmRlNTkxZjk3NTljNDQ4MCx5aFNucFI1TA%3D%3D) on the front with the words. “Zippo protects you even from a bullet.” Skeptical as always, she had pulled out her phone and googled if a Zippo could really stop a bullet. Lo and behold, it could. Who knew, they could be so useful. Eyes glazed over, she went back to the counter and made the one clerk get out that lighter.

When Nigel’s back was turned, away from her checking something on his bike, she slipped her purchased lighter in the back pocket of his messenger bag. With a shrugs, she grinned to herself. He’d find it sooner to later, she secretly hoped it wasn’t when she was nearby; she wasn’t good at giving gifts. There was something about that lighter that had drawn her in, and made her want to buy it for him. She didn’t care about how much it was, she just knew that it was now his. In a way it felt like it was her way of always looking out for him, in a guardian angel kind of way. Much like how her music had healed him, and later her own two hands. She knew she wouldn’t always be around to look out for him, and she didn’t know how to tell him that she cared. Just made, the Zippo lighter would convey how she felt, with out words.

With her phone in the front pocket of her jacket, and ear bud headphones looped behind her ears, but not in. She stood next to the bike, watching him. He watched her right back with an amused look on his face. Her heart pound in her chest when he mounted the bike.  Removing the kickstand, and steadying the bike, while she attempted to get on. “Don’t laugh at me.” Biting her lip in concentration, she held onto his shoulder, and awkwardly climbed onto the back. She wasn’t always the most graceful person, but she wasn’t a total klutz either. The first tiny little wobble of the bike, had her clinging to Nigel like a spider monkey. Laughing nervously she mumbled in his ear. “If I die, I’m coming back to haunt you.” Settled at last, she jammed the helmet he held out for onto her head. Her stubborn determined streak getting the better of her fears. Do or die moment. When he started his bike, the sound was like music to her ears. She wrapped her hands around his waist and held on for dear life. 


	55. Chapter 55

Jangling keys shoved inside the front pocket of his leather jacket along with the wallet, the calfskin stretches along as the bump appears. As if it had been always there. On the opposite side, his half-crumpled and half-empty cigarette pack perched snugly inside the smaller pocket with the zipper along with his sunglasses. Mirroring the sunglasses on her head as his own gets perched up to cup around his thick locks with a smoke poised on his lips, his lips thin and stretch to cheek to cheek. If his like had been filled with monochromatic with occasional flood of crimson, Gabi’s presence makes everything flamboyant and vivid. Bleak and gloomy black and white whirling into technicolor. A rainbow painted across his innermost corners of his heart. Redder than the healthy glow of his cheeks, more golden than the beaming smile etched across his cheeks. He could literally feel the glimmering aura exude from his skin. Something that he would’ve never imagined merely few weeks ago. How his own life takes a dramatic turn, an unexpected serendipity of events rolling like the thunder. The energy that he had consumed would be enough to generate power to the whole fucking district.

The messenger bag loosely across his expansive back, his face brightens even more along with the patches of sunlight curving around the streamlined chrome. Eyes sparkling and exhilaration licking all over his spine, he could literally feel every inch of his muscle roll in anticipation.  [ Ducati Multistrada 1200  ](http://www.ducati.com/bikes/multistrada/1200/index.do) stands where he exactly had left it. A huge improvement over the years, starting with a secondhand moped he had ridden as an adolescent boy of fifteen. Along with the drastic increase of horsepower and exceptional performance, his maneuvering skill had increased where he could easily corner around any curves, even those hairpin ones he reminiscences when he had taken the trip alone about a year ago. A bit dusted over. His extreme impeccable care absent during the months of debilitated days where he had spent it between delirium of life and death. The bike itself is the living embodiment and a representation of himself; with a menacing front, the front light glowing like a predator’s orange eyes about to petrify and devour with their blazing gaze alone. The body is streamlined and slender, resplendent flame plated along the sides to ensure convenient driving and comfort.

Leaving the messenger bag draped over the compartment, he rounds the bike as he takes a deep drag. “About twenty years, I suppose. More than anything else, riding has been one of my fucking passion, incomparable only to practicing shooting revolvers.” Watching the smoke swirl away towards the opposite direction, his head sticks out as a hand rakes over the very stubborn strand of lock piercing his right eye as a hand smooths and caresses over as if he would do with her body.  _ With reverence and adoration _ . Like his equal. It’s more than the heavy piece of metal equipped with engine and compacted technologies. It’s the only thing he spends both time and effort to take more care than his own body, along with his handgun, lodged inside the front pocket where it would be most easily accessible. It still feels out of the ordinary to not feel that assurance, the metal pressing against his spine like his second backbone. 

Since it will be a twelve-hour back-to-back excursion, he leaves no stones unturned as he checks all the parts, tightening the screws, checking the exhaust pipe, suspension, removing the old filters and replacing with newer one, and to top everything off, checking the extra fuel tank. He can’t remember if he had managed to spare a tank or two at the cabin and doesn’t recall if the house is well-stocked enough to last them for two days or more, judging if Gabi could be persuaded (or manipulated) to stay an extra day. Wouldn’t skipping school be fun and so mischievously wrong? He makes a mental note to stop at the gas station to be extra sure, as there would be no gas station nearby the national park and to stock at least something substantial and adequate feast. Perhaps a liquor or two. Then the thought surfaces. Perhaps there had been some  _ pălincă  _ \- double-distilled plum brandy that was even stronger than  _ țuică _ . 

Oblivious to what Gabi had been doing as his eyes shone with fireworks, already utterly excited with the prospect of feeling the cool air whipping across his body with her body pressed tight against his back. With a slight tilt as he pushes a helmet, his own, into her hands with a curve of his lips, he mounts the bike and zips up the leather jacket, enough to feel warmth from the skin, but not enough to cover up his chest. With the last deep inhale, he flings the stub away and helps her with the half-helmet as he applies a bit of shampoo inside the visor to prevent from getting foggy, he tugs the collar up and pulls over his own full-face, hi-viz one for a pop of yellow and red. “I’m not.” His tone otherwise amused as he gives a playful pat over the top of the helmet, his hand searches for her arm as he coils it tighter around his waist. “You’re not fucking gonna die with me as the fucking driver, but I have a tendency to turn into a motherfucking daredevil when I get on my baby, so you’d have to hang on for your dear life, like how you have been holding onto me while we fucked.” He cannot restrain himself from guffawing as his chin throws backward, helmets clanking as he steadies himself from the bike wobbling more to the side. The gentle revving soon becomes a roar of the big cat as the ignition soon turns, the bike shoots into the horizon, matching his intensity and enthusiasm. The bleak communist buildings and fall foliage mingle to create an interesting mingle of whirling abstract strokes as the agitated wind picks up speed along with the fluttering needle of the dashboard, he glances over the shoulder from time to time, checking up on her. “Hanging in there, darling?”

____

Riding well under way when Nigel looks over his shoulder again shouting above the noise asking how she is doing. The only reply he gets is an enthusiastic thumbs up. Being on the motorcycle is like nothing she ever experienced before. It’s almost as if she could fly.  With the wind whipping her clothes, and the scenery rushing past, it sets Gabi free. So far she had kept a tight hold around Nigel’s waist. There was something about the feel of purr of the engine and driving fast that made her want to spread her arms to the side like wings. She molded herself to his back like a second skin. Sitting up higher than Nigel was interesting as the back end of the bike was slightly raised. She could see the appeal in riding a bike, the only thing that would suck would be rain, or really cold weather. It was like love at first ride for her. Every time Nigel took a sharp corner, she learned to lean into the turn how she saw Nigel doing.

Every so often when they go over a large bump their helmets make a small clanking noise as they connect. It can’t be helped, unless Gabi sits back some and not press her body up against his. That wasn’t gong to happen any time soon. After the silly thumbs up she gave him, she pushed her ear buds head phones in and turned her playlist on. She let the music take her away, making the ride an even better experience. It was nigh almost impossible to have a conversation of the noise of the air streaming past their heads and the roar of the bike. It was ok, they didn’t get overly chatty most times anyways. This was all part of their comfortable silence. With her thighs clamped tight around his lower back, she got lost in thought. It was hard to imagine that it had only been about six days since they met. It felt much longer, almost as if she had known him forever.  One thing she noticed about being on a motorcycle was it was like riding a giant vibrator, it sent pleasing sensations up her body, and awkwardly stimulated her girly parts. She could imagine this was one reason why it was so popular for women to ride on the back of a bike, it was very sexual.

The sun was warm on their backs, she was very glad to have brought her sunglasses, she needed them. The fall colored trees and foliage reminded her of why autumn was her favorite time of year. It was fun watching the landscape slowly change from city to rural. The din and the noise from Bucharest fading into the past for the future to take shape before them. Still she had no idea where they were going; Nigel had not informed her of their destination. It wasn’t that she didn’t care where they were going; it didn’t seem to matter as long as Nigel was with her. She would have followed him to the end of the earth if it meant he was by her side. There wasn’t a time before now that she could recall being this happy. Sure playing cello was her happy play and was everything to her. But now it seemed there was a special place in her heart just for Nigel.

The first pit stop they made was due to Gabi having to pee, it was about two and a half hours into their ride, and she had typed up a message on her phone, and reached out to hold it up for him to see.  All it said was ‘BATHROOM?’ a few minutes later Nigel pulled over in the middle of no where. Getting off the bike she gave him a look, and sighed resigned to her fate. Clearly there weren’t enough gas stations near by where they were so the patch of wood they were parked next to had to do. She took the helmet off and placed it on her seat. “Be right back.” Plopping her backpack down on the ground, and promptly ran off into the bushes. After she was finished she took her time to walk back to where Nigel waited. It felt so good to stretch her legs.

Jumping up and down doing a few jumping jacks, she needed to move around a little bit. “How much father is there to go yet?” She was curious and looked at him hopeful that he might tell her where they were headed. If she remembered correctly he mentioned something about a six hour ride. Inwardly she groaned, it would be almost in the later evening by the time that got there. With fall on the horizon the days were getting shorter also. They would be out of daylight just after they reach their destination. Not wanting to get back on the bike just yet, she moved close to Nigel, and rests her forehead on his chest. She was feeling lazy and looking up with a smirk she told him. “I can see why you like your bike so much; it’s a lot of fun.” She didn’t mention that it also turned her on way to much.


	56. Chapter 56

Surrounded by a great whoosh, as the bike swiftly splits the wind, his hand is quick to lift the visor, coveting to feel the less than biting wind turn petals against his flushed face. The generated heat via his back through Gabi’s pressed front is more than enough to build up stacks, as the air feels remarkably freshly washed and crisp. The dawn of fall squeezed onto wide canvas on the earth, as the bleak and suffocating cityscape turns into colors singing without paying attention to rules and regulations. Like a Fauvist painting, just like his own quirks. Shades of blues and flamboyant reds, the rays slanting across the fair Mother earth. His charming brow ridge deepening as the succulent lips curl upward in a beaming smile, he gives a quick, yet firm squeeze over her tight pants. Their attires almost reminiscences of a cougar and a black leopard. Powerful, fire and air spinning with brightness as he drowns in patches of sunlight continuing to pass by like film reels. 

He can’t pinpoint the most of the things Gabi is listening behind him, but making enough of the percussion of base and booming rhythm shattering the very air he wedges in between, the added sensation only amplifies the anticipation and excitement. Love like a shot of whiskey. He would never know when to stop until everything becomes befuddled and the stars wheels by him to either swallow him whole or make him sink into an inescapable sinkhole.  _ Crashing, burning, detonating. _ Defying gravity. As much as he wants to close his eyes, feel all the melodious tune the suburbia offers and let his astral body do its work, he rallies. His stance firm, muscles relaxed, feeling every minute surge of the heavy metal’s revving reverberate through him as it becomes his second body, like a mustang with a tunnel vision. Going along with the road and letting the heavy metal beneath him guide his maneuvering. Even after unintended absence on the swerving road, his skill has never gotten rusted. As if he innately belonged there.  

It’s like slowly disappearing into another dimension, another universe. At his flat, how effortless and easy it was to focus on each other’s body and forget everything else. As city of Bucharest itself dissipates into small dot on his peripheral vision, the aligned streetlights and slowly sinking sun the only means of illumination. He had already relinquished the only key to his heart to Gabi, as she was the only individual who would ever take him for who he really is. All the shattered fragments, scattered and strewn for him to pick them up. The terra-cotta colored, cornucopia of sparkling diamonds and rubies rippling in flecks, his body is already laying on the docks of the  _ Lacul Roșu _ , just off the cabin by the trail. 

Shaking his head and almost choking to swallow down saliva, he hears more louder clank of their helmets before he steadies himself. The road is gradually bordering to be boring. Of course, the spectacular view of what would be found in postcards and guidebooks are still visible, but having been surrounded by it at all times loses its appeal. He could probably continue on without resting and as much as he would like to find a filling station or someplace suitable than in the middle of nowhere without even a streetlight to offer the illumination, he tugs off his own helmet, letting his skin breath a bit and feeling the coolness lick away a filmy layer of sweat. His hair clinging onto the forehead in an interesting pattern. Pushing away the locks and trying to light a smoke, he finds the lighter fluid had been depleted. It was one of those cheap lighters he got for free anyways. Stretching his back and dismounting as he nods, watching her disappear behind the lush woods. Fumbling to find if he had packed a lighter, he runs into a surprise as he finds a Zippo lighter he doesn’t remember putting there. 

Hearing the gentle pop of his spine as he leans against the heavy metal, idly running a thumb over the protruding bullet and then moving it upward to the engraved letters. Almost imperceptive evidence of a smirk still tugging his lips, he watches the smoke whirl away as he looks at the screen with the word ‘BATHROOM’ again. Erasing the words, he quickly types the words before Gabi makes her way back towards the bike. “I protect you even when I’m down.” However she takes the message, the intention is clear. Turning off the screen for her to see it later, he power smokes the cigarette through and by the time she’s finished with her question, he’s flinging the stub over the side of the road. “Judging by the lack of traffic, hopefully three hours tops.” The ghost of the smirk returning as he reflects her expression, he nuzzles into her short cropped hair, color more vivid than the stretch of brightness. “Isn’t it? Just fucking wait until we get near our destination.” Remembering those hairpin curves and twisted roads, he ponders if he could pull the trick he had succeeded multiple times, almost going parallel with the road at almost full-speed. As he lowers his face and feeling the gentle throb from the bite earlier, fingers cup around her jaw as he gives her a long peck, parting just in time to mount back on the bike. “If we hurry, we could watch the sunset by the time we get to the gorge.”

____

Melting into the kiss he gives her, she regrets when he lets go to mount his bike. Fixing her jacket, picking up her backpack and putting the helmet back on she is ready. “Ok let’s go.” Phone now in her front coat pocket again, she climbs onto the back of the bike much more gracefully than the first time. On the road again, arms wrapped tight around Nigel’s middle she rests her helmeted head on his shoulder. Just the feel of him close is a reassuring comfort. There is a heat that radiates off of him like a tiny dying star. She wants to wrap it about her shoulders like a blanket and take a god damn nap. It would be too dangerous to fall asleep like this, so she sits up a bit, blinking. Its amazing how cozy she gets around him, no one ever made her drop her guard like that before.

For most of her life she was labeled an ice queen, and her only love was music. Nothing else mattered, and that was all that she needed to keep her warm at night. She needed no one and nothing to hold her back. There was no time for dates and romance when she had practice to do, and her cello to keep her company. Being independent and strong willed did not make her very popular with the boys at school. But she didn’t give a shit. They were nothing to her; they had never been worth her time or energy. Everything was different with Nigel. He wasn’t some shy scared little boy, running from her strong personality, or passion for music, and crazy flare for life. Instead he was a grown ass man, running towards her with arms wide open, and warming his hands in her glow. Their fateful meeting wasn’t something you often read about, and it had forced her to take notice of him. He might as well have waved his arms in her direction and shouted ‘Love me!’

And just like that, it had been so easy to love him. His quirks and oddities were what had piqued her interest and held it. It was enough to make her stop obsessing over her cello. Now she felt like a drug addict with Nigel, she couldn’t get enough. It made her not care, about going home, or checking in with her father. She didn’t care about hanging out with her friends, or going shopping. And for the first time ever, she had gone two days in a row with out playing her beloved cello. What was happening to her? This was like a sinking pool of quicksand, and the more she struggled to dig her way out, the deeper she sank into it. The only thing was, she didn’t want to climb out of this pit. No, she welcomed it with open arms, and gladly letting it consume.

To keep herself from falling into a sleep, she fished her phone back out of her pocket, and put her headphones back on. The music would be just the thing to keep her awake. Pushing the button on the side to turn it back on, she saw the message blinking on the screen. It wasn’t the one she had typed to Nigel, it was something different. He must have left it for her to find, and it made her smile. Nigel had to have discovered the zippo in his messenger bag, other wise he wouldn’t have left this note. For such a gruff and stoic type of guy, he certainly had a way with words. And he also had moments of down right sweetness, when he wasn’t being temperamental. He was so full of surprises and it made her giddy to know she had a front row seat to all of it. It was like being allowed in the pen to watch and observe big wild cats at the zoo.

Closing the message app out, she turned her music back on to she could listen and watch the landscape flow past. With a grin she, took one of the long headphones, and stuck one end of the ear buds in Nigel’s ear, and turned on a song that reminded her of him. It was called Too Original by Major Lazer. He’d either like it or he wouldn’t but it was something to do. Three hours left to go; it could get really fucking boring not being able to talk. After that song she just played a bunch of random rock, heavy metal, or songs she felt made riding a motorcycle even more thrilling.  About an hour after she started playing music, she noticed that they passed a sign, that she could have swore she saw once before already. Feeling like maybe it was just déjà vu, she ignored it. When the scenery started looking familiar, she started paying attention to her surroundings. Eyes narrowed and biting a nail, she wondered whether she should say anything. Being lost would only make them late, and then they wouldn’t get to watch the sunset. With a sigh, she turned the music off, and typed another message to Nigel. Biting her lip, she held it up, she didn’t want him to be offended, or get mad…. But….  ‘Are we lost?’ If anything she could help navigate if he would tell her where they were headed. 


	57. Chapter 57

Deciding to ditch the helmet for the rest of the ride, he pulls over the protective neck sleeve instead from the smaller compartment in front and slips over and under the jacket collar, adjusting and tidying up before storing the helmet aside. Feeling rather proud of her for easing onto the bike with more grace this time, he gives her thigh a squeeze, intended as a silent compliment before turning the ignition back on again. Along with myriad trails of whispers of branches and twigs and the rustle of the densely populated fronds, air spins with radiance as the light paints the contour on his body as it slants along Gabi’s pressed form. The rippling heatwave still clinging against his skin-tight jeans. As the bike shoots up faster than the projection of the bullet, as the sun begins to sink closer to the horizon, the biting wind gradually increases to prick against his bare skin, the collar flapping and his gradient locks turning into mini whiplash. The amount of heat generated by the press of their clothed forms is enough for him to melt and mold into her space. How comforting and uncomplicated it is to be himself without any pretensions and demanding authoritativeness of a silver-back - the commanding leader of the pack. Like removing a permanent, impenetrable skin to return to his innate personality.   

Until they reach closer to the entrance of the national park, the ride is bleak and the hours stretch painfully by the minutes. The sparks of foliage gradually turning into endless rows of pointy straight pine trees, the road with sporadic amounts of vehicles passing by in a whiz. Consistency never his strong forte, a cheetah could never be a marathon runner. The tunnel vision he had before diffuses along with the darkening sky, as not a single building comes to his sight and the air crisps and freshens up even more, he could even make a few celestial bodies scattering the sphere like diamond dust. The unwound roll of landscape becoming the stage filled with trite dialogues and dismal acting with a predictable plot, the excitement slowly depletes as he is entrapped in a mobius strip. The endless gray of paved road doesn’t really help with his magnetism towards the unknown, how he longed it like the colt yearns to be with its mother mustang. The spontaneity of the twisted curves along with a bit of reckless kiss with elements of danger the most sought after treat he could devour. Never the one to sit dormant and always restless to try new things out. No wonder he was more interested in physical activities than being a bookworm. 

With the earbud inside his ear, the flow of music instantly awakens up, the effect just like shooting himself up with a syringe full of drug. He cannot make out all the lyric in honesty, but appreciating the gesture and knowing Gabi had looked at his double-meaning, play on words, both in sadness and injury. The sentence becoming endless pool as it unwinds from it, he wraps his heart around it and etches into the muscle. Even in the midst of chaos, there would be the comforting stillness to loop his fingers around. More than the pre-existing collections of scars to prove that he was definitely an optimist. How he had sought after that last lifeline he could hold onto, not to avoid more bruises and contusion that would etch through his skin and harden him further. As if that would ever bring him a grinding halt to pursue what he considers superlative contentment; with her in his arms, at his club, endless exchanges of shot glasses, the technicolor dancing and flooding the ambiance and his inner sanctum.   

Maintaining his stance, as rigid as the stone sculpture guarding the temples, but tension begins to coil around his lower back as the chiseling sensation floods behind the eyelids. He would usually feel like this when he would go without even a wink at times. Solely fueled by rush of psychedelic hurtling inside his brain, his demeanor unpredictable as shark-full dark waters looming with animosity and virulence. Knowing with the lack of traffic and his exhilarated mood fast forwarding the ride in a record speed, he could tell by his tethered and quivering muscles that their destination continues to play hide and seek with him. A fucking lose-and-lose situation When he had visited almost a year ago, the road had unfurled itself right in front of him and this excursion is proving to be the most convoluted labyrinthine he had ever come across. If he could play Hansel and Gretel and leave crumbs all over where his fat tires had imprinted the very earth, he would’ve found the sneaky sidetrack leading to the national park, the only road leading up to the most quiet solace. And he’s too fucking stubborn to turn on the GPS on the dashboard. That would’ve have confirmed just how indeed very lost he had been.   

Frustration flaring through his hazel pools, with every inch of light dissipating behind the jagged lines of the landscape, reflecting his own anger licking taut as muscles coil further. Eyes trailing her cell like he would a prey, he huffs and gradually slows down as the familiar sign nears. As if it had been taunting him all along. The anger materializing into the torches flaming in the mist, fingers mold around the handle, tighter than ever as he pulls over at the filling station, the one he had passed about twice already now. Time to fill the tank and get some fume off. Pent up and boiling just under thick skull of his. “We aren’t fucking lost. I’m positively sure we have reached its vicinity. It’ll just take about half an hour.” A scowl deepening the crease between the bridge of his nose, lips thin and draw down into a reverse arch. Uncaring for the ‘no smoke’ sign by the nozzle, he quickly plucks out the zippo lighter and lights a cigarette, taking an umbrage out along with dense fog of a smoke. “Be a darling and run off to get me a six fucking pack. I fucking know where we’re going.”    

____

With no reply from Nigel as to whether they were lost or not, she sat anxiously hanging on to his jacket. She paid attention to signs and landmarks. Trying to make mental notes in her head, there is a fine line tremor running through Nigel now. Agitated, she would guess, and hoped that he wouldn’t be too angry. Hugging him briefly, she left him alone for now, and didn’t pester him at all farther. As soon as he pulled over at the filling station Gabi hopped off the back of the bike, and stood on the opposite side of the motorcycle watching him closely. While he is grumping spectacularly, she puts her phone away, taking off the helmet and resting it on the seat.  Fingers card through flaming locks, and she blows a strand out of her eyes. It was probably best not to say anything at the moment.

When he asked her to go buy him a six pack, she opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it. Taking off her backpack and digging out her wallet, she moved into the little store. Every where in Romania sold alcohol, that wasn’t the problem, two things. One Gabi was just shy of the legal drinking age, and two… She hoped to god, he wasn’t planning to get wasted and drive around some more. Drinking and motorcycles didn’t seem like a very good combination. Biting her lip nervously she moved to the back where the long coolers were. They were already lost, what drinking was going to do to fix it, she had no idea. Nothing more than likely, it would make it worse. She hoped they didn’t card her, or she was in deep trouble, and he would have to come in here himself, and then he’d be in a right foul mood.

Having no clue what kind of beer he wanted, or what would be a good one, she just picks one at random. To her amazement buying the said beer, went without a hitch, by the time she had reached the counter she had a layer of sweat on her back. The cashier hadn’t batted and eyelash in her direction, and she fled the store as soon as it was paid for. Wide eyed and feeling like she was on roll and nothing could stop her; she shook her head when she saw the no smoking sign. The first thing Nigel had done was light a cigarette when he got off the bike. Was he trying to catch himself on fire? With a sign she walked slowly back to where he was waiting. Trying to be helpful she innocently inquired. “Would you like me to bring up a gps, on my phone? Might be quicker, if we wanna make it there by sundown.”

Done refilling the tank of the bike, he was still being a brooding cloud. He was huffing on his cigarette like a train smoke stack, and she couldn’t help but feel as if she needed to do something to make him feel better. Ok, so what if he got lost, who doesn’t every now and then, but he didn’t have to take it so damn personal. Would it bruise his manly ego to admit that he was lost to her? Probably, shrugging she leaned up against the bike lightly. She took one can, off the ring of the six pack and set the rest by her backpack. With a cheeky grin, she opened it for him, but took a sip first before passing it over. “You can only have one now. We’ll never make it there at all if you are inebriated.” She was teasing him, and hoped he would lighten up just a little bit. The beer had tasted awful, and she wanted to wipe her tongue on the back of her jacket, it took all her willpower not to do just that.

Trying to take his mind off his mood, and all that, she sat on the bike in his seat, with her hands on the handle bars. Getting a feel for it, it would be interesting to learn to ride her own motorcycle. “Would you teach me to ride?” There was a twinkle in her eye of mischief. It had a double meaning or at least it did for her. There was a seductive air to her, and being on the driver’s seat of his bike, made her feel sleek and sexy. Leaning back she laid down on the bike as much as it would allow back arched and resting her head on what was her seat. She was staring at him with intense eyes, hungry, and wanton. Why was it she was always turned on by Nigel no matter what he was doing? There was something so raw about his personality, which made her want to jump him at every chance. 


	58. Chapter 58

Even more deeper crease chiseled across the bridge of his nose, fingers forcefully tug against the neck sleeve, the diaphanous layer licking over the side of his face as ashes scatter into the spreading sunset. As the mesmerizing dispersion of the color seeps to reflect upon the calfskin and his slanted hazel pool, the small flame continues to dance from the glowing coals akin to heatwaves as the spark licks through his spine yet again. He simply cannot fuck things up right here and now. Frustration flares more wildly, the desperation even worse than a wanderer in the desert who had come across a deceptive mirage of an oasis, his bitter pill continues to seep through his bloodstream faster than the lightening striking the ground. Rooting deeper into his hammering heart. Not even the humming engine with an incomparable horsepower would match a freight train about to plunge down to an inevitable. A can of fucking beer is going to be infinitesimal to thwart his disgruntlement. All of his picture-perfect capture of the moment fading to something beyond his reach.  

Thrown down in the dumps as his lips press together into a thin line, he feels the filter press without even a bit of give as his shoulders roll, then hunch. Slouched off to the one side with his typical contrapposto, he doesn’t waste even a single drop of the fuel, as he watches the tank fill up almost to the brim. With a slight tilt of his head, he watches Gabi with temperamental set of orbs, they fixate onto her with an almost unreadable expression. The bed of coal still burns behind them, the vestige of flame still exists as a relic of what it used to be a great set of fireball. A furrow slowly crawling onto his facade as he watches her to meet his needs, He scurries off the invading lassitude by gritting his teeth through the smoke. A quick jet of smoke whirls away along with the cool flurry, as sky explodes more in a firework of reds and oranges, a wildfire blazing through the jagged silhouette of treetops. 

The thought surfaces, something he had never given a light to; as much as he felt right being with her, he still didn’t know so many conventionality of relationship. Things like her age, interests, birthday, what she liked except playing cello and attending opera. Thumb and index closing around his dewlap and feeling the stubble rise against his fingertips, he lets out a long-suffering sigh enough to gather up all the oxygen inside his lung and expelling it all out at once. The tight coil around his lower spine acts like a heavy plummet and he is running high on Cortisol. Fingers splayed over his forehead, a dull throb gongs throughout his forehead. That familiar pressure behind his eyeballs as light becomes shards, prickling through the very washed air he breathes in.    

Regarding her approaching figure with half-attention as the phantasm around him darkens a shade or two, he both languishes and savors the oncoming inhale of nicotine, letting it linger more around his sinuses before extinguishing it by crushing the stub against the ‘no smoking’ sign. “I have a fucking GPS on the dashboard.” Drawling the words in his characteristic husky modulation, his crestfallen tone imperceptibly shakes as his softened gaze lifts up. He simply hadn’t turned it on, defiant to not rely on the piece of technology he obstinately believed he didn’t need. In the blink of an eye, another cigarette plucked and lighted, the need for more stimulation matches that of a burnt victim dying for a cigarette as he is more than willing to risk his own demise for an ephemeral surge of poison coursing through his veins. To him, it’s more than a well-traded bargain.

“Bicaz Gorge, that’s the name of the fucking place we’re headed to.” After endless heavy fog billowing around him like abrupt emission of smoke from the barrel of a semi-automatic revolver, he flashes her a feigned seething look as lips pull taut against his cheek in a scoff. “As if a fucking can of beer will make me fucking sloshed.” For the first time in ever, he’s the first one to avoid the intense eye contact and he could feel the creeping heat soon take over all of his torso. Perhaps he was more than he cares to admit to feel somewhat embarrassed. Like a contagion, it’s inescapable and unavoidable. Taking a long guzzle as he quenches the arising column of hot air, he raises an eyebrow at her. Both in respect of curiousness and a bit of a shock added as an additive. “I believe we have a fucking cabin to get to, so perhaps later, but I will teach you someday for sure. I am not against the other riding part though.” Soon, the invisible dark veil dissipates and curls into the thin air as it completely reduces to ashes. A lick of his lower lip follows, then a gentle press along it with his teeth as his mouth agape. Slithering close like a cobra, he presses his body almost parallel to hers, fingers mold around side of her face to lock into a feral kiss, almost impure and forbidding.  _ How she knew so innately and effortlessly to get into the deepest well of his mind.  _

____

Squinting up at the sun or what was left of it, she shielded her eyes briefly. “I have never been there before.” She comments about the name of the place they were headed. The prospect of Nigel teaching her some day to ride a motorcycle, and the fact that he got her little play on words, made Gabi grin like a Cheshire cat.  It had been so easy to take his mind off getting lost, and she liked that about him. It made him simple, and fairly easy to read. Thinking to future run-ins with his moods, and this fact made the idea of handling them as they came, easier to deal with. She wasn’t going to let his temper drive her way, he had much more to offer, then the thuggish outward persona he projected. With her odd good character judgment, she had a feeling that, underneath his hard outer shell, he was a fairly nice person. It was all about navigating the waves, she was no paddlepuss, and she planned to tackle him head on, like a true surfer.  Bring it on Big Kahuna.

His sudden kiss startled her, and popped her bubble, almost making her fall off the damn bike. Clutching at his jacket, she hung on so she didn’t tumble off the other side and crack her head on the pavement.  _ Classy Gabi, real classy.  _ She couldn’t help, but kiss him back, turning into a puddle under his touch. His furious kiss, had uncoiled that dark side of her personality once again. Fingers slide along the zipper of his jacket, only to stop at the collar, where blindly she felt the bite mark she had left just above his tattoo. Her thumb stroked once across the tender flesh, and she took a deep breath in through her nose. This was really not the place to mess around, so she sat up, pulling herself into a sitting position with her hold on his leather coat. She really wished they were at the cabin right now.

Huffing out a small sigh, she slowly let go of his jacket, running her tongue across her bottom lip and climbed off the bike. “Alright lets go.” She set her jaw in a determined line. Swiftly she moved around to his side picking up the rest of the six pack and shoving it unceremoniously into her back pack and made sure it was secure. Slinging it onto her shoulders, she readjusted the straps for the new weight, and flipped her sunglasses dramatically down off the top of her head. In a hurry, she put her helmet back on, and climbed back on to his bike. Hopefully Nigel had swallowed his pride, enough to get his head out of his ass, and just use the damn gps he had.  There were much more important things than, being so machismo. She didn’t fault him for being so stubborn, she knew she could be sometimes also. But right now, was definitely not the time for it. With a small chuckle, she wrapped her arms around his waist. Just before he turned the key to start the engine she tapped him on the shoulder and pointed forward. Joking around she told him.  “Lead on o’ fearless leader.”

The headphones went back on, and she shared them again with Nigel. Grinning like an idiot she put on one of the most bad ass sounding songs that she thought he would like. It was called  [ Being Evil Has a Price by the Heavy Young Heathens ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DogZ-asfsSj0&t=NTZhOGMyOWI1N2ZhYjJmN2M0MTM1NWQ3MmMwN2E0MjIwZWM4NDg1OCx5aFNucFI1TA%3D%3D) . The guitar riffs alone were awesome, and it was just a good song to ride to. It felt like a race against time now. The speed of the bike versus the setting sun. As the sun sunk lower and lower the brilliant autumn colors seemed to come to life. The warm evening glow making the oranges, reds, and yellows pop out. There was crispness in the air only this time of the year had. Of decaying leaves, and the changing in the seasons. Before long it would be Halloween, which happened to be her favorite holiday. _ Would they be together still by the end of the month?  _ So far so good, there wasn’t a reason they couldn’t make it that far. 

In the back of her mind, she hoped that spending time at the cabin, would allow them to get to know each other better. There was so much she wanted to know,  _ but what would be asking too much? Was she already in too deep? _ He clearly enjoyed being around her, and wanted to spend time with her. She blushed with pleasure, knowing that he thought to bring her to a romantic sort of get-away. There was a lot more to him that met the eye. She had to wonder how many people got lucky enough to be welcomed into the inner sanctum of his world. He was like one of the most fascinating books, she had ever read, and she couldn’t put it down. This was a book you couldn’t judge by its cover, that saying never made more sense to her, than it did now. A part of her wished with time he would reveal his secrets to her, like a book encrypted with riddles. She only needed to find the key to decoding him. Time, that was all she needed. And probably a good deal of patience. In just a week, she had more fun, than she ever had in a long time. All because of this curious man. A strange emotion came over her, one that she had been pushing out of her mind. One thing that Nigel made her feel was, whole again. She hadn’t felt this way since, her mother was still alive. With him by her side, she felt like there was something worth living for. It no longer made her scared of dying, cause at least if she had been with Nigel and truly loved him,  _ wasn’t that all that mattered?  _ Biting her lip hard, she tried not to be swept up in the emotions she was feeling, but it couldn’t keep the sting of tears at bay. She was glad the was behind Nigel, and with a helmet on. She would have been embarrassed.


	59. Chapter 59

Suspended on heatwave, like riding a hot air balloon, gleaming orbs turn to a hawk’s knowing glare, cultivated and culminated into radiating warmth. His goal in life is really straightforward if he sums up into a sentence -  _ a kind of happiness that keeps his persona warm even when surrounded with the world of teeth-chattering icy coldness. _ Even when he feels the pent-up anger, directed at self as this rare occasion haunts to claw back at his skin, the brooding fireball, mirroring the greater one falling slowly over the horizon with a prospect of another blissful day at the cabin, about to detonate and crumble into dust, strewn all over the earth in the form of shattered manliness. With carefully stacked piles of his unexplored layers of persona well-hidden from the general public scattered around, uncaring for as lips continues to mold and glide, the needless bout of brooding glum dissipates into the thin air. The kiss feels even more electric, as the presided emotion gets overwhelmed by the fluttering wind created by the previous veil of his aura, wearing another layer of phantasm as he lets the lips guide him. 

Feeling her slither away, biceps taut as his strong thigh presses against hers, anchoring her form as fingertips run along the clothed back. Veins pushing closer to the skin as the boiling blood seethes through the outermost epidermal. Like the great fiery ball crawling slowly over the ocean’s horizon, the effervescing through his throat as column of pressed air, saturated with lust. It already feels like he had taken a bottom-up guzzle of  _ tuica  _ before the feast of senses. Her fingers are quick to glide underneath the pulled sleeve and underneath the perked up collar, slightly damp with a ring of perspiration plastering against the back of his neck. Like a wolf with the prey’s blood smeared against the side of his face, he growls into the kiss as neck tilts, urgently pressing for more before the inevitable rolls around. The gentle rev of the engine underneath acts only as a catalyst and he slowly stretches and nips her lower lip, feeling the slick smoothness as he tastes her further. It’s more addictive and covetous than the surge of nicotine fading and masked over with their perfume.  _ The trailing pheromone. _

His reluctant gaze turning both honey and liquor, both capable of causing calamity and emollient properties. Oozing with burning contour and brimming slant of a sun ray, heart flutters akin to hummingbird’s wings, determined to get them to their destination with renewed vigor. The first thing he does before even turning back the ignition is to drown his complete attention against the GPS on the dashboard and he wants to bang his head against it. The words  _ Bicaz Gorge _ along with  _ Lacul Rosu _ glaring him like a mockery and the alphabets themselves burn through his forehead like some kind of brand. Now he’d never forget that little entrance he had missed about three or four times up until now. The rampage formulating into an invisible shroud of red mist, blending into his aura as it had been innate. Now changing which waves to surf along, the fiery tides recedes into gentle calmness as his eyes burn through the destined place.  _ Damn his wretched obstinacy. _

Briefly looking over the shoulder to be attentive, he pulls the protective sleeve over his sharp features, tugging the helmet on tightly as he braces for the chilled wind as the burning glow disappears behind the jagged and towering lines of the landscape. Absorbing all the traces of orange glow rippling in gentle currents, his orbs glint like that of a black leopard, driven to harvest the day’s kill. The twisted hairpin already materialized in his mind, as if already playing the game inside his head. A wide grin stretching, the tunnel vision installs again like a pre-installed software, effortless as the bike shoots into the darkness like a bullet train. Locked in an inevitable pursuit with the thumping music encouraging and provoking him to get there before the pitch-blackness spreads over the earth like a giant umbrella over their heads, as more celestial bodies appear over his head, they seem to egg him on to swerve through the winding curves. The streamlined body easily skids and his own form convex along with it, the thrill of speed evident against the procreated crisp chillness licking all over his body.   

His blueprint finally coming together, the heat of spark from the fabric barely gliding against still heated road from the afternoon sends his steady heartbeat through the roof in a nanosecond. How the heavy roaring metal easily swerves under his trained hands. the exceptional finesse hadn’t dwindled all those months of non-practice. After twisting through the whirlwind of curves and unforgiving road, as trails of thick muddy cloud spreads over as unpaved road appears before him. The sheer vehemence of the rockface heightens as the veil of dark curtains draws more and more to his eye level. The serenity of deep blue and purple overlapping like a thick succulent pastry, he almost wants to let his hands go, stretch his arms wide open to feel the familiar sighing breeze through every orifice and pore of his body. Breathing in the mother nature wholly. As the cloudless sky unfolds along with scattered diamonds seemingly close to his reach, the serenity of the open water greets him as the bike slows down, the gravels and twigs scattering about as the silhouetted outline of the cabin paints before him. The comfortable silence unraveled as he lets a deep inhale rejuvenate him. Oaks, maples and birch aligning to paint the water into most complex amalgamation of colors which would be very difficult to reproduce.  _ So deep and profound _ . The engine reverberates and stalls as the headlight the only source of illumination for now. Chucking off both the helmet and sleeve off, he shakes off the clinging moisture, sharp eyes scanning the grounds as an etched grin broadens along with the radiance spreading through his facade. “I was thinking we could pull out the outdoor grill and have our mini-barbecue, got frozen slab of meat in the freezer, so why not entertain ourselves with a little fire?” A hand stretches out, a sign of invitation as he pulls out his duffel bag, along with a large blanket he always carries, intended for him sleeping at the club. 

___

Like traveling down into the depths of the underworld, the road twists and turns, making it appear much darker, when the rock faces loom above.  _ Was this how Persephone felt, when Hades stole her away in his terrible chariot?  _ A level of excitement rose in her as they draw closer to their destination. They slow down at last and she can see the fall colors reflecting off the surface of the lake. It makes the whole world seem as if it were dipped in liquid gold. The front of her body was warm from where it was stealing warmth from Nigel, but her back was chilled from the cool air that rushed by on the bike. Climbing off first when the motor stopped, she stood stretching like a cat, and letting out a yawn. Like a great beast unfurling its deadly wings, Nigel rose from his bike, and stood next to her for a moment, before unpacking.

Taking her helmet off, she plopped it on her seat, with a sigh. At last, she could relax, and enjoy her time with Nigel with out interruption. When he held his hand out to her, she slinked up to him sideways with a coy look. “Sounds to me, like an excellent idea.” Playfully, when she drew almost chest to chest with Nigel, she pecked him on the cheek. Smiling up at him, she took one glance at his deep penetrating eyes, and she couldn’t help the goofy grin that broke out on her face. Just the sight of him made her light up like a streetlamp at twilight. He was the enveloping darkness that surrounds her. Like a blanket she pulled him around herself. His aura would have been the best blanket to build a fort out of. Closing her eyes, she laid her head on his chest. A prickle of chest hair tickled her nose from the v where the few buttons of his shirt were left open. Feeling clingy, she wrapped both arms around his torso, and pressed her hands into his dip of his spine. At the same time, she languidly moved her head back and forth, nuzzling his chest hair with her nose.

Looking up, after a few minutes, she patted his cheek. “Lucky for you, I am an expert fire starter. Too many camping trips as a kid.” She was grinning at him wickedly and winked at him. Drawing away, she took her backpack off. “I’ll start us a fire and prep the grill. If you go handle your meat or whatever.” She tried to keep a straight face, it wasn’t working so well. Giggling like a fool she told him. “You know what I mean.” She was clearly tired and everything was funny, and she was in such a good mood. Not even sure she knew what was coming out of her mouth at this point.  _ Ahh yes, that moment when you are tired, and your mind is in the gutter. _ Anything could happen. Shaking her head, she set her backpack down on the ground.

Whistling as she walking off before any other terrible puns fell out of her mouth; she wandered around gather sticks, and branches for firewood. Stuff that was small for a starter, twigs and the like that would burn quickly. Rounding the corner of the cabin she saw a woodpile up along side.  _ Awesome jackpot! _ So she didn’t need to worry about the big stuff. The grill was adjacent to the cabin, on the left side not far from the woodpile, it was covered. She walked over to it; it was one of the low to the ground, large pit types. That could just be a fire, or double as a grill if needed. Pulling off the heavy tarp, that was covering the grill; she folded it up and set it aside. After a while she had a nice little pile of small starter twigs in the middle. Coiled up dry pine in a little ball at the center. Feeling motivated, she hauled a couple select pieces of larger firewood over to the pit for after, when the fire was started.

Waiting for Nigel to return, as he had a lighter and she did not smoke. She moved back over to where the bike was parked. She saw he had left the blanket and duffel bag near her backpack. Gathering up all of their things, she moved it all over to the fire pit. They would have a nice view of the lake from where the grill was positioned. The bank was only a stones throw away, the dock jut out into the water. Hands interlaced on top of her head, she meandered out across the dock. Carrying with her the instant print camera. With the time of year it was, and the colors, the fallen leaves, the drying grass, it all blended, to become an elegant painting all along the water. There was no way she could resist taking a photo, the way the light faded, darkness being pulled across the sky by Artemis the goddess of the hunt, and the moon. Her silver bow in hand to shoot the first star across the sky. Holding the photo that popped out of the camera, she waved it back and forth in the air letting it develop and waiting to see how it looked.


	60. Chapter 60

The whole unfolded scene becomes a compilation of enigma as everything seem to turn in his favor. The cloudless sky with uncountable celestial bodies. Within the reach, he could pluck the most brightest star that gleams like a karat of diamond, aligning the sky like strewn pieces of blossoms, pendulous over his head. In an autopilot, fingers move like programmed arm of the machinery, plucking a cigarette and zippo lighter from beforehand. With a gentle roll of his spine, each vertebrae unfurls as he languidly stretches the side, the tight, recoiled muscles from the prolonged ride awakening as the lion’s yawn makes his gleaming sharpness known to the world. Without ever making a single peep of noise. An undefeated and unchallenged reigning champion of the Serengeti. Like the awaiting depth of the sea, deceptive, all-consuming. The life of the sea thrashing upon the shore, without begging to be heard as it inches towards, plunging beneath the overbearing pitch-blackness. Senses awakened, raw emotions bubble up with the deep ebb and flow of his heart, whooshing beneath his eardrum as he feels her head press against his chest. 

As the comforting darkness becomes an invisible veil around him, enveloping them into a conjoined mold, he watches through the ectoplasm of smoke. A wrist poised against her shoulder, a stretch of a grin bubbling up. The soul which had once been confined behind the cage, the love trapped within his heart now shine along with incomparable clarity. The transparency which now echoes through his bone with each inhale and exhale. The plastered button-down from the ride and the warmth radiated from Gabi’s front flutters like his heartbeat as the autumn wind grazes his straightened back. Instead of answering, his lips imperceptibly stretch as slightly ajar lips trail the smoke, crawling along the chilled air of the nightfall. An arm perched between the strip along her jacket and yellow skinny jeans, he tilts his head and let a feigned simper stretch his lips. As he would soothe the puppy and let her sleep over his chest, his gaze traverses across the depth of the lake, which seems to stretch forever into the horizon in the tranquility of darkness. Merged through where sky meets the sea. Where the sun desperately tries to meet the moon, knowing well enough that would be impossible. 

Pushing away the twisting sensation in his gut away with a widening smirk, he withdraws his gaze upon the lush glittering sway of the rippling lake and the glowing fire that burns over the ledge. The deepest, easily friable and dusty corners of his life. Full of gossamer cobwebs and crawling shadows, darker than the depth of the ocean, full of black chimneys with noxious fumes, scents of coppery tang as he wore them like a pair of glove. Having lost the childhood spirit and hope, and dreams drying up into a drought. Gabi’s words acting as like a sure trigger, the one and the only camping trip he had taken twenty-five years ago hurls back like a boomerang to hit him in the head, making him to bleed all over his orifices. Appreciating the galaxies of darkness surrounding them as each tear threatens to become streams as he feels the unfamiliar sensation of moisture pushing back behind the eyeballs. How it was easy to pour his raw emotions out as it brimmed dangerously through the surface of all. “I know what you mean.” _ Despicably well.  _

Watching that particular strain of memory unfurling out into the recess of his mind, he swallows a lump, as the jagged surface chisels gashes inside his throat. With a half-smoked cigarette still dangling between his lips, he watches it aglow with more redness as he takes the deepest drag, to suppress the unpleasant sensation boiling over from deep. The very cabin which he owns and the very earth that he walks is a single reminder of how things could’ve taken better for the worse.  _ Tiny little hand holding the veinous hands, gnarled with years of working, all muscles underneath the hard skin. Looking over his shoulder as the earth-shattering, ear-splitting combustion sets the car on whirling fireball, all he remembers afterwards is the dead silence and darkness claim his little eight-year-old body. Just like how this night seems to unfold. _ Letting the headlight beam guide him inside the cabin, before the brimming emotion pours and entraps him inside the eye of the hurricane, quick strides help him to get down towards the storage, where he had stored flash-frozen slabs of meat and other pantry items. Gathering cans of tomatoes, ground beef, beans along with a bottle of tuica and thick cut of sirloin steak along with a large pot to put together a simple chili soup, he makes it upstairs back to the cabin. 

It is exactly how he had left it about a year ago - the fireplace full of soot and ash, he could literally scent the fire permeate the small cozy sofa, perched in front along with the small lounge table. The kitchenette with no sign of life present as the place itself crumbles into dust. With only his fluttering whooshing blood-pump as he feels the pressing solitude of darkness close in from all the side, everything halts in this dimension. Traveling in time as well as stopping it. Taken to what it had been a fairy tale of a life. Too good to be true, perhaps that’s why the god that he doesn’t believe - whatever it was, intervened between them to leave him - and another unspeakable individual, on this very earth. Lips pursed tight, fingers become trembling talons as it begins to eat at him. Pressing his body against the front door, where the world separates into hope and inescapable confines and cages of his memory, he lets wanton rawness devour him for once. Secluded between flow of contentment and brooding entrapment, a painful gloom engraves over his visage, along with a strained brink of deluge as glimmering pools widen to stare at the adjacent fireplace.  _ No. Not right now, not when darling Gabi is just outside _ , with an insulated wall and wood panels between them.  

___

Watching the photograph come to life between her fingers, she smiled. It wasn’t as wonderful as the real thing, but it was still a beautiful rendition. Pulling the black marker she always had in her bag from her pocket, she wrote on the back. ‘Lacul Rosu: Nigel’s Cabin’ along with the date. And then jammed the cap back on and stuffed the marker in her back pocket. Twisting the one ring she wore around on the finger it was perched, she closed her eyes and breathed in deep, that scent of fall that she cherished so much. Blinking open her eyes, she carded her fingers through her short locks, and stuck the small photo in the front breast pocket of her jacket. The chill creeping in is just what she needs to wake up. Filled with a renewed sense of energy and adventure, she turned around and headed back towards the cabin, feet dragging across the dock, making clunking noises.

Wanting to start a fire now so that it was ready, and they could warm themselves next to it like two lazy cats.  She looked back at the cabin, there weren’t any lights on, and it was growing dark fast. It seemed like Nigel was taking a long time, but wasn’t sure what he was up to. Setting the camera down atop her backpack she looked around. Picking up the blanket, and with it folded over twice, she draped it across her shoulders like a massive poncho, and it threaten to drag on the ground if she let either end slip to far. She wondered if there was a rake here, with all these leaves around, it looked as if no one had been here in some time.  _ Wouldn’t it be grand to pile them up high and jump in it? Yes, yes it would. _ With an enthusiasm of a child, she ran back to the cabin, and went around the side, looking for tools, or a shed. Finding neither of these things, she went around back. Behind she saw a sort of lean-to off to the side a few feet. Praying to the powers that be, she held her breath and opened the door.  _ It was locked, fuck! Why now, dammit. _ It was ruining her calm. She just wanted to rake some fucking leaves, so she could push Nigel in to it when he wasn’t suspecting.

Huffing out a sigh, breathing again, she turned around to face the back of the cabin. There was a small back door, and no windows.  There was a stone chimney for what she assumed was a fireplace. That could be very nice, sitting in front of a fireplace, all cozy, and romantic. She logged it away for later, as she wanted to find out if Nigel had a key or something to unlock the shed. Hanging onto the blanket so she didn’t drop it, she moved to the door at the back, and opened. Thank god, she didn’t like being locked out of places, thought it seemed to happen to her often enough. Silent as a mouse she opened the door, and headed inside. It was getting gloomy and dark, only the few windows in the cabin let in what remained of the dark. Glancing around she took everything in and let her eyes adjust to the dim. Almost startled, she saw Nigel leaning up against the front door.

Right away, she knew something was wrong; it was as if the atmosphere had changed. Barometric pressure creeping in on all sides. A hand ticking along to measure the changes, and wobbling slowly to boiling point. Outside had been the calm before the storm, now inside the cabin, it felt like a typhoon, swallowing ships whole, dragging them down, down, down into the dark, pitch black. Blinking, was the only movement going on, her visage had frozen, as if by some magical spell. Nigel, did not look well, and it worried her, a gnawing, feeling twisted at her insides. Her throat grew tight, and she had no idea what to say, but when did words ever really matter with them. Quietly she walked foreword, pulling the blanket from about her shoulders. With out a word, she wrapped it around his in turn. Hands smoothing down the front where it lay flush with his shirt.

She wouldn’t ask him to explain, or question the sudden change. If she needed to, she’d ignore the glimmer of tears, and blame the darkness sliding in to drench them in black. Turning away from him, she leaned up against the door where he stood, and slid down it until, she was couched on her heels back pressing to the door. They didn’t touch at all, save for when she let her head rest on his hip. If he didn’t want her comfort so be it, but she wasn’t going to leave him alone to wallow in darkness. Maybe she didn’t have a lot to offer, she didn’t know how his life had been up until now, and she certainly had no clue, nor could she fathom the demons that haunted him. But what she could offer she supposed, was a light in the dark. A single candle flicker, just enough to chase away gloom. She wouldn’t force him to talk; there was no need for it. If he wanted to, that was his choice. For now she was content to just sit here with him. The leaves and the fire were all forgotten, and she closed her eyes, and let everything fade into white noise.  That same state of mind that takes over when she is playing her cello, in her head, she could, just imagine the tune, the pluck of strings, and slide of bow. 


	61. Chapter 61

It’s so easy to drown in waterlogged emotions becoming a scattered confetti of ripples through his dewy hazel pools, the saltiness pushing through from behind as all the suspended dusts inside the room materializes into the vivid reverie. Letting the floating spheres come together to form orchestrations of carbon. What he remembers of his parents, his siblings. One estranged, one simply forgotten and perished as her soft gaze and impression of hand print etched to his skeleton. The necessary life once he concocted and ingrained inside his head - a perfect family of five. It didn’t have to be the grandiose Lecter manor where they once resided. The earliest memory of him had been watching his father fix up collections of vintage cars and motorcycles. Hoping he would grow bigger and taller than his father, owning one and fixing it as his little hazel orbs intently watched them. It had been better than any book he could get his hands on. Better than any bonding moments he reminisced over the years. He still remembers the weighty feel of his father’s wrench against his tiny palm, screwing the bolt as big as two of his fingers combined against the fat wheel of the motorcycle. How herculean and invincible his father looked with his majestic posture and equally penetrating dark brown orbs, not so deviant from his own. Now, the lifeless form, barely becomes a broken, twisted mess of muscles and sinew, sinister crimson floating and tainting the ground and his own skin, wretched pungency assaulting his nostrils through heavy downpour, quenching the blazing fire.  

Hot tears about to boil over the surface of the bubbling pot, orbs widen as grievance threaten to fall by any minute now.  _ Isn’t this supposed to fucking work? To stop those fucking tears from falling.  _ Registering Gabi’s form closing in the distance, he could only make out the vague wavering silhouette as all the edges soften up into blurry phantasms.  _ No, this is not real and what I’m picturing is only in the darkest corners of his mind, which means I could push it away as easily as it had been much too effortless to be plucked out of floating abeyance. _ Instead of the pitch-black and cold stone chimney, the fireplace begins to aglow with crackling embers as an invisible feast presents itself in his vision of fogs. He doesn’t remember his mother much nor cares to remember about Hannibal and Mischa. Always restless, active and mischievous, he was never inside the house and spent most of his time alone with nature. Inside the tree-house with the dog, exploring the grounds as myriads of scars covered his tiny arms and legs. Comforted more by fallen foliage, blanketed by the furs and the shared frantic, hammering heartbeat of the canine.   

The searing hotness pressing against the back of the eyeballs become more burdensome as he finally watches the lashes flutter, lids growing heavier than the shutters as spheres of clinging heaviness effortlessly fall to soak through the fibers of the wooden floor. Each tearful hitch of breath, suppressed behind his clenched teeth, through his set jaw as the detonating fireball drags him down into the inescapable darkness. After crawling away from the spreading fuel, embers about to swallow him whole to take him to the other side of the world along with his parents’ souls, all he remembers afterward is the feel of  _ abandonment  _ and  _ loneliness _ . All of his family gone, strangers offering condolences, him breathing through the oxygen mask as big as his face, along with bandages around his torso. The sickening scent of disinfectants and bleak white walls greeting him to haunt him further. How he felt betrayed, the accumulated anger and booming frustration licking taut and twisting his spine when he held Hannibal Lecter’s business card in his hand about a year ago via his associate. As if he had been bitten by a venomous snake, the hydraulic needle had pierced and the contempt flooded his veins and pores. He had relished the  _ animosity _ . The sun vanishing as the sky turns smoky gray as he vows to never search out for the brother he didn’t have. As if he had been nonexistent from the beginning. 

Between gentle fluctuating diaphragm of his lungs as each bronchi twists and squeezes with erupting rawness, they turn into the city of Pompeii. Pumice hardening, fragments of once great vacationing city of Italy buried in crumbled ashes of once great civilization without nothing to salvage for. Not having used to and turning into a version of himself that he had pushed away all those years. Always alone, living in a complete darkness and solitude. Swallowing poison and having left to build tolerance. Letting the stream wet the back of his trembling hands, knees buckle as the weight against his arms suddenly become an encumbrance, adding to the grievance. Their last camping trip, his mother’s violin breaking through the silence of the secluded woods, the crackling firewood as flames gnaw against the oak. Setting the pot along with all the ingredients aside, he unscrews the bottle of  _ tuica _ , taking a long gulp as his chin tips. Sliding down to join Gabi on the floor by her side. “I lost my whole fucking family after a trip akin to this.” Fruity scent accentuated with a bit of saltiness from his tear, seeping through his thinned lips as a fluttering exhale congests an invisible lump deep against his throat. 

Once he speaks through low, gravelly tone, words become a sepulchral tune, almost like an eulogy. “With my parents dead, siblings’ whereabouts unknown, I was left alone in a hospital.” Then the rest is vivid chapters written in his alcove in a room. A small niche, accessible by him and only him,  _ until now _ . “This cabin, the state which it had left in, every single fucking thing is a grim reminder of what it used to be.” There he goes. There might be the answer why he hadn’t visited this place in almost a year, better, perhaps  _ why he wanted to take Gabi here to let her understand him further _ . The lingering sweetness of the plum and column of trail left by the strong spirit useless against such powerful jet of emotion, he hands her the bottle, gesturing her to take a sip. Clutching one corner of the blanket around his shoulder, he invites her into the radiating warmth. The brooding frame of mind pushing behind a small clearing of hope as the air dances more with tiny fireflies. 

____

When Nigel joins her, down to her level, she plops on the floor next to him, knees curled up to her chest, with them leaning slightly off to the side to brush up against his leg. She had been surprised by the confession from him. There had been no need for explanation, but now that he had bared some of his soul, and let her see some of his demons, it was something could she understand. When he passed the bottle of tuica her way, she took it gingerly. Before taking a sip, she presses her shoulder against his, letting him cover them both in the blanket. Her demons were much milder by comparison, and she knew that losing ones family was much harder to handle possibly then just losing one family member. It still stung the pain of it all. The emotions and the memories, like a haunting dream.

Taking a moderate drink from the bottle, she coughs, and passes it back, was making a scrunched up face. It burned like a son of bitch going down. Clearing her throat she had to let the feeling subside before she could say anything. “I lost my mother when I was seven years old. I still miss her.” Looking down, she rubbed a finger across the bridge of her nose. Just a few hours ago, she had been thinking about her mother, and how being with Nigel made her feel whole. It all came rushing back in full force, it had more weight and meaning behind it now. Not only was Nigel himself missing pieces in his life, it gave them another connection. They both lost people they loved, at a young age. She knew she couldn’t make the pain go away, but she could at least be there for him when he needed it. If he wanted her to be that is. Since he wasn’t pushing her away, she liked to think maybe, he was letting her in just a little bit.

Talking about the past, losing her mother, the void that was left in her wake, feeling responsible for her father at such a young age. It was never easy to bring up, sometimes she didn’t feel like a daughter, she felt like a caretaker. It probably said a lot about her way of life too, she lived every day like it was her last. Anything she might have learned or done just with her mother had crumbled to dust. It also explained why she always dressed mostly like a boy. She didn’t have girly moments to draw upon, no dress up, girl’s night, motherly love and words of wisdom. Being raised by he father reflected in everything she did. She had to wonder what would have been different if she had that feminine influence in her life.  _ Would she be more girly? Would Nigel still like her if she wasn’t so quirky? Would she have been able to talk to her mother, about falling for an older man? _ So many unanswered questions and things she’ll never know.  _ Would her mother be proud of who she was….. _

Pressing the nail of her thumb into the middle of her palm, she fought the tears that threaten to fall. With her head back against the door, blinked rapidly, and as a distraction, she pulled the photo she had taken from her pocket. Turning it over in her hands, she passed it to Nigel.  Barely above a whisper, had she croaked out a few words. “Nothing will replace the memories, but you can always make new ones, happy ones.” Maybe it had been her intuitive way, but this photo could be the start of a new beginning for Nigel. A subtle reminder that the past has no hold on you. Not really, it’s all in the mind, and that those feelings and memories are what grip you tight, and twist you. With making new memories you can choose to remember happy moments, and collect them, so that you don’t let the past eat you alive. She couldn’t bare to see him slip away, she wanted to see him flourish, and become the best part of himself.

When he passed the tuica back she took a larger drink. If they were going to move forward, one thing she could do was help him make happy memories. The child at heart in her could see the one in him flickering like a tiny flame. It was almost the opposite of the way her wild and careful spirit basked in the glow of the fire in his heart. She felt like she could give something back to him. It renewed her with a sense of purpose. There was no way in hell she was going to let him self destruct, and she wanted to pull him out of the ashes, dust him off, and set him free. Under all that hard shell and gruff persona, lived a child that hadn’t be able to be just that, a child. It was something she could understand, and like a bird, she would let him out of the cage, and watch him fly. There were so many things she wanted to share with him. Raking leaves and jumping in the pile seemed like a good place to start, or getting drunk. Both, both were good. “Would you like to play a drinking game with me?” Never having played one herself, she knew of one that her friend Mihaela had told her about.


	62. Chapter 62

Watching her fingers close around the bottleneck, the distinct bright colors of Romanian flag jumps out in the darkness as the darkness and the feeling of isolation dissipates into the chilly and dusty air. The lights continues to aglow as each of them turn into stardust in celestial sphere, closer in his reach than it ever had been. In the silent gloom that still surrounds them like a heavy fog in the marsh swamp, mostly, it is the fear of unknown that always keep him on the edge and his distinct recklessness that was bound to land him to meet a premature death. If a fateful hurl of thunderbolt would separate the siblings apart and reduce his parents into remains of ashes, scattered in Balkan States where they had been originally from, why not live the life to the fullest? Doing things he considered useful. He wasn’t going to waste the tragically short life doing mundane prosaicness everyone steered away from doing so in spite of being illegal and harmful to both body and mind. _ The literal deterioration of mind over matter _ . No more, caged behind the bars of the past, haunting him like a recurrent nightmares which will plunge him into the ominous funnel of spiraling monstrosity. 

“I would be careful with taking a large sip, don’t fucking underestimate it, it’s potent.” Shifting his hips and situating himself to press his shoulder against her, an arm snake behind her to bring her closer. Her presence offering a comfortable solace, numbing the flaring sensation sweeping through as the afterglow still widespread like a fevered heat. How painless to become a slave as he reduces into a puddle of emotional mess, completely owned by his corporeality and the unrestrained emotion that follows it. It’s as satisfying as breaking the invisible walls that had been suffocating him all those years. Painting them over with more flamboyant, vivid and bright memories that would overwhelm those murky events from the past, escaping gravity as he frees himself from them. There’s no reversing the calamity of it and he doesn’t regret what he did to recuperate from it or in his self-defense, how he coped with it by putting up mechanisms all his life. Believing that he was the sole survivor until about a year ago the most thunderstruck incident of them, reaching its climactic zenith of emotions. It’s not like the memory will be ever erasable by any chance. It had been probably as devastating as the one gut-wrenching injury that landed him to suffer more in physically. 

Intently listening and pressing a finger between the corner of deep ridge and the corner of his eye as the last brimming fluid makes its dramatic appearance, painting over the red-tinged skin, a chuckle rattles his chest as he makes a ‘told you’ face. “I was eight. See, I thought we had more commonalities than we first appeared to be.” He had always been shackled by separation anxiety and the void he couldn’t suffice comes together with their shared memory. The recalled memory bringing them even more closer together. That perfect stroke over the canvas tying every composition and element together. The subbing sorrow transforming into strength and their irreplaceable memories which they will build and fortify together. Leading a vagabond existence, feeling like a outcast and the creature born from the past. Peripatetic life finally coming to an end when he finally settled in Bucharest, Paris of the Eastern Europe.   

The photo, which acts more than the recompense of the past years, the things he had striven and worked hard for, overcompensating through the chiaroscuro of a photo, alighted by the headlight. The light carving through the darkness and contouring the landscape into an enigmatic actualization. Watching the effervescing bubbles rise as he downs a good few inch of the plum liquor. “What a fucking appropriate picture to start our memories anew.” A lazy grin spreading wide across his face, the tears he had shed feels cathartic. Wiping his lips with the back of his head as he clutches the bottle with the same hand, he hands Gabi the bottle as he grunts, pushing himself up like a roly-poly, the one thing he did exceptionally well was to drown and pluck himself out of the affection faster than most people could. He had no intention of staying there and let it disturb him further than it already has. 

“If it involves getting you off all those fucking layers, then of course I’m in. ’ _ Ti se taie filmu _ ' - The thing you’d know about me, I either fucking sink or swim. We drink until we get fucking sloshed and black out.” Pulling her along with him as he squeezes her ass, he grabs all the necessities and swings open the door that had meant so much more than a mere door. The distinction between the unfolded future to come as he shuts the door of the past. Walking over to the adjacent grill along with covered firewood already stacked and covered with tarp, a smooth grin plasters more easily against his lips. The blanket unwinding from his broad shoulders, he spreads it over the ground not too far from the fire-pit, overlooking the lake and lush shrubs, the oak tree right by the grill. With a gentle peck on her cheek, a thumb glides under her eyes, seeing a bit of gleaming tear about to fall. “Campfire girl, why don’t you start the fire, meanwhile, I’ll tend to the meat and get the fucking chili pot ready.” 

___

With his words of warning, she plans to take it easy with the drink. It wouldn’t do for her first time to get trashed so fucking quickly, thought she though it hardly mattered at this point. There was an almost certainty that she would be a lightweight. She didn’t think she would ever be able to drink him under the table, and wasn’t going to even try. Handing the bottle back to him, and laying her head against his for a brief moment, it was comforting and the booze was making her warm. She laughed at his reply, about losing clothes. With a cheeky smirk, and a glint in her eye, “Well it just so happens to be called, Flip, Sip or Strip.” This made her chuckle, turning her head to look at the floor. If anything, she wanted him to lose his clothes, he looked a lot better naked than she did, she was sure of it.

Being pulled to her feet, with a gleeful yip, she allowed herself to be swept out of the cabin by Nigel and his gropey hands. There was a grin plastered to her face now, one that would match his in equal measure. The clear liquor working fast in her system, it would be worst to, since she hasn’t eaten in a while. Standing with her hands in her pockets, she watched him set things down, and spread the blanket a few feet from the fire. The oak tree near by acted like a silent looming guardian, watching over the both of them. Maybe keeping them safe, and shielding them from the rest of the world in this moment. Nothing else seemed to matter, and everything was narrowed down into just the two of them. As if time had frozen, and they could be here, by the lake forever. When he came back over to her and kissed her cheek, she brightened up again, like a flower unfurling its petals to the sun.

“Lighter?” She held out her palm, other hand on her hip, with a serious look on her face. She could have been a surgeon asking for the scalpel from her deranged and manish nurse. When the cool metal of the zippo touched her palm, she looked at it and grinned. “Did, I ever mention… I’m a bit of a pyro.” And at that she flicked the lighter open and thumbed the wheel to strike flint. A sinister look came over her, as she knelt by the fire pit, and lit a small piece of tinder to use as a match. This was to set the waiting ball of starter twigs, and small dry stuff in the middle; a blaze. Watching it catch, she waited to see if it would hold. Getting an idea, she stood up abruptly, turned around and grabbed her camera. Quickly, snapping a random photo of Nigel’s back, she waited for the camera to spit the film out; it was the perfect thing she needed. Setting the little camera aside, she used the undeveloped picture to fan the tiny flame. She didn’t want to get to close and choke on ash as she waved the make shift fan about.

She was feeling rather good, slightly loose limbed, and in a really happy mood.  It made her think, that she could do anything, and didn’t really care about consequences. If this was just the beginning of the drinking, it couldn’t be that bad right. Sitting on a small round log that served as a chair, she crossed her leg, letting her one foot bob up and down, lazy like a cat swishing her tail. She was trying to remember the rules for the drinking game now, before she got too trashed, and wouldn’t be able to recall anything. Checking to make sure the fire was doing well, she fanned it a little again, and when she was satisfied with it staying alive, she added a few bigger pieces around, for fuel to the small crackling flame.

Staying close to the fire pit to baby sit her fledgling fire, she watched Nigel. “I’ll explain the rules to this game for you.” Sitting up, she sat foreword, arms resting on her knees. “Basically, you with a coin, take turns flipping it, calling heads or tails. Who ever is flipping the coin, lets the other person guess the result. If they guess right, then you pass the coin and they get a turn to flip; if they guess wrong they have to flip again. If I guess your flip right a second time, I have to answer any questions you have. If I guess right a third time, I have to take a shot. If either of us guess wrong all three times, you have to remove an article of clothing.” She gave him a raised eyebrow look. This could end very good or very bad, depending on which way you look at it. Either you’ll be naked or drunk, maybe both. With a chuckle she picked up her camera, and took a selfie, arms held up in the air, making it a sort of aerial shot. This would be the before and after photo, if she wasn’t too wasted or remembered, she’d take another later, as the after, for the hell of it. “Smile!” Narrowing her eyes, she took one of Nigel, when he turned to face her. Waving the two photos in the air she waited to see what the out come was. Bursting out laughing, Nigel of course, had a blank slightly grumpy look on his face. He still looked amazing. If only she was so photogenic.  


	63. Chapter 63

Lighting the cigarette before handing the zippo lighter to her, he begins to open the cans in an autopilot and once the can lids all come off, dumps the contents into the large pot, vigorously shaking the ingredients with the lid closed on top. The heat from the plum liquor still alighting the lining of his stomach, it affects him more than it usually does. The only thing he had eaten for the day the omelet from their breakfast together. Giving an appreciative hum as he tastes the mixture from the pot, he sets it aside to work on the meat, which is slightly defrosted around the edges, with the middle still pretty solid frozen. Call it a coincidence, but the surface of the pot had dispersed and absorbed the coldness from the meat itself, which had aided in thawing process. “Ah, is it now? How appropriate.” Arching his back to stretch a bit from his crouched position, he lifts a curious eyebrow as lips stretch to spread into a grin. Wearing a cocky air around him as the blade of the knife cuts through the meat in an inch-thick steaks. 

“Well, as long as it involves getting fucking wasted and getting naked, then there’s no reason for me to not participate.” Now trimming the fat and indigestible tough fiber around the steak off with a careful turn of the meat, he takes another quaff with a slow tilt of his head, neck arching as the succulent scent of the uncooked chili already taking him to the fireplace, ablaze with glowing embers, swallowing the lingering nostalgia and weighty thoughts of ‘what should’ve been’ and recurring images that had haunted him in quiescent mind. It will be an effective propellant with the prospect of the future, the unknown that he doesn’t fear as insomuch he had done it with the past, words and pictures already etched through his veins. 

The happiness had a tendency to fleet, the moments nanoseconds compared to the remains of wreckage, memories that barely become the swirling ectoplasm unfolded in front of his brooding hazel orbs. Not having registered the moments when he had been higher than the stars, the seconds stretched into minutes, unfurling in his mind. Like a knotted ribbon unwinding from the spool. He always wants to live a life where he is free from all the suffocating stardust, etched across the pores of his skin as they become an immovable permanent tattoo, where he is always racing the stars - where he is drunk on messages of love, and high on engrossing and enchanting magic. Free of confinement of rules and social implications, with an armor of emotional bravery molded onto his physique. 

As the fire builds from the little fluff, onto the ball of twigs to ignite further to form a considerable sized embers, he languidly stretches like a lion after a long nap in the shade, as many animals graze the fields. Retrieving the grill rack and placing directly over the fire, the pot acts like both the weight and another piece of positive memory. How simple it was to overlap the nagging persistence with such a simplified recollection. No more of the terrible tendency for him to linger, closing the distance of his brain and heart. Slightly leaning forward as to test the blazing heat radiating and containing around them, the air acts like a protective barrier as the cloudless sky offers almost no gust. 

“Simple enough.” And fucking loopholes for the game to practically become a cheating ground. Wanting to see her drunk off her ass and naked, he knows exactly what he will do - get her drunk, then in succession, losing all of her clothes. Considering she had more layers than he did, it would take a bit of work. Coughing for a bit and moving his position to stay away from the direction of the smoke, two pieces of generously portioned slab of meat finds its rightful place along the slatted grill. Wiping a hand against the kneecap of his jeans, he tilts his head, looking up with a pinched brows and with an air of grouchiness carved along his lips as she takes the photo. Bursting out a chuckle before taking the camera in his hand, he walks briskly over to the bike, the headlight still illuminating towards the direction of the cabin and offering a bit of slanted penumbra against the adjacent side. Lips incised with a tilted smirk, his bicep tightens on the hand that had been holding the camera in his direction. “There you go, you can keep that. Quid pro quo.” With the flick of the switch, the bike remains dormant, the last lingering heat disappearing under his touch. Watching the faint image of himself come to life on the film, he mirrors the expression as he hands her the photo. “That chili should be done.” Flipping the steak over as the succulent aroma dances across the air, an easier grin plasters on his face.      

___

Shaking her head at him, grin still curling her lips, she takes all three photos, and tucks them into a pouch in the front of her backpack. She didn’t want to lose them, and would probably label them tomorrow or something. Fishing a 50 bani coin from her wallet, she held it up to the light of the fire looking at it. It would do, for what they planned for it. “Our coin.” With an amused look she held it out in front of her, clutched between two fingers. There was a faint flush spreading across her cheeks, and it had nothing to do with embarrassment or anything, it was all the booze. She watched him while he flipped the steaks on the grill, and could feel her stomach growl. With an empty stomach the liqueur churned in her, and made her even hungrier.

Feeling reckless, and full of gumption, she leaned foreword, and braced her one hand on the back of his head, hand clutching in the hair at the nape of his neck. With the other hand she carefully plucked the cigarette from his mouth. Holding the cancer stick, out to the side, she gave him a swift kiss on the mouth, and pulled away to bring the cigarette to her own lips. Taking a light drag, she inhaled the smoke, and let it burn her lungs for a moment. She couldn’t help the cough that escaped her lips, breaking the seal on her elegant gesture. It didn’t really matter, since it couldn’t ruin her good mood, and she didn’t give a shit how uncool it made her look. There was no mistaking the blissful, light headed, tingling feeling the cigarette gave her. It was like a mini high to go along with the booze, and the excitement, and good company. Passing it back to him, she placed it between his lips. The high from the cigarette didn’t really last long, but it had made her feel good.

Leaning closer to the fire, she pulled the lid off the pot of chili, and smelled it, letting the steam, curl up in a little puff. “It smells good. Shall I get us some plates?” Putting the lid back on, and tucking the coin in her breast pocket. With out waiting for an answer, she stood up and hurried off back to the cabin, jogging, and banging the door open. Digging through drawers, and cabinets she found what she was looking for, a plate for each and utensils. In a rush, she hurried back outside, shutting the door and running back to the fire. She had way too much energy right now, probably from sitting on the bike all day. Walking back into the circle of the light the fire cast, she smiled. Lately she noticed that when she was around Nigel, she was always smiling, even when there wasn’t really a reason to be doing so. Setting the two plates and utensils, on the ledge of the fire pit, she sat back down, with a little huff.  

Figuring now was good as any to start their game; she pulled the coin from her pocket, with a little laugh. “Since I am young I’ll go first.” She couldn’t help but tease him with his age, and if anything wanted to see if he took the bait.  _ Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight? _  She was never one to shy away from joking around, and poking the bear so to speak. With a sly look, she flipped the coin in the air, caught it in her hand, and flipped it to the back of the opposite hand, keeping it covered. To cheat or not to cheat? That is the million dollar question. Deciding to play fair, for a few rounds, she called out. “Now you have to guess what it is. Heads or tails, Nigel.” Playfully she poked him in the knee with the toe of her boot. Clearly being tipsy agreed with her, as she became way much more friendly.

Perhaps being drunk would let her be herself, and let her hair down more. She had always looked over the fence at the grass on the other side, seeing that it was greener, but never allowed to cross over. Now that she had jumped the fence, and ran around with the wolf that harasses the sheep, she found she was having the time of her life. She couldn’t imagine going back to being stuffy, and studious, and the good little girl, always following the rules, and doing what people told her to do. Fuck that. This was much more fun, and adventurous. All those years of playing it safe, and doing the right thing, had made her feel asleep. Now she was awake with eyes wide open. There wasn’t anything she didn’t want to do or try. If Nigel had asked her to help him lasso the moon, and bring it down, she would say when and where, I’m there. With her head back, she stared up at the sky, and picked out a few constellations. Her favorites stood out to her, easy to find, and ones she always looked for first. Canis Major and Canis Minor, the fox and the hound, the tale of the fox that could never be caught and the hound that caught everything it chased. Forever they raced across the sky, always locked in a never ending battle of wits. 


	64. Chapter 64

With his head lifted and tilted, watching the perfectly seared cross-mark aligning the medium-rare steak, he pulls them out to the side of the grill, intending to letting them rest before cutting into them, waiting the meat to redistribute the juices inside. It isn’t the best cut nor in the best condition to be stored, but at least the meat retained the freshness he had striven for and had all the necessary ingredients to prep what he considered simple and substantial enough. As swirling flames dance across his features to chisel through the sharp angles, glimmering pools raise almost imperceptibly, he exhales steadily through his nostrils, watching a bit of crystallized breath along with the smoke rising from the dormant volcano. The gnawing crackle of the firewood stimulates the growing appetite. The flame contained within every granule and fibrous marbling and the taste of smoke seeped into the lidded pot, which will deepen the taste and mask all the processed flavorings. Watching the ash grow alight against the tip as it scatters away like particles of dust, hurtling away as the alloy glints like the stars above his head. He intently watches the coin gleam between her fingers, meeting her flushed rosy cheek before blowing the smoke in her direction.  

Grabbing the tong to remove the grill from the ever-glowing flame, Gabi’s hand against his neck petrifies himself in an invisible mold and instantly, his lips press into a thin line as eyes roll off to gauge the situation. Like a dog running out of his patience with his treat in front of him as the leash tightens around his neck, less than a savory nuzzle from her hand has him paired with a long, chest-rattling sigh. Eyes communicating in silence.  _ Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing? _ Lips slack as his gaze fixates on her movements, he remains in the same, locked in an almost humiliating position. Frozen in place, a gentle shiver licking all over his back as he becomes oblivious to the blaring cell, desperate for his attention. Knees planted on the earth, a hand propped over on his thigh rather awkwardly as his tongue glides across his lower lip, searching for that ephemeral taste of her and the lingering nicotine, seeping through his tastebuds. It’s so easy to fall into the same pool, headfirst as he plunges into the same thoughts. Already addicted to her. A lopsided grin faintly etched through his cheeks, like a preening cat, he flips his hair and then smooths afterward, his spine straightening as he frees from the position. 

He had been thinking,  _ why dirty up more plates when we can eat it straightly off from the pot? _ She disappears into the cabin even before he has a chance to part his mouth. Then, the vibrating sensation upsurges through his torso from the back pocket as more incoming calls. Even without looking down at the screen to check the name of the individual (already knowing it is Darko), he turns off the power and stows it away in the inner pocket.  _ Out of sight, out of my fucking mind now _ . And if the club had been operating fine without all those months of him absent and Darko as the sole mastermind ruling with an iron fist, then couple of days more couldn’t hurt. If he needs something yesterday and was looking for it today, Darko wouldn’t get it today, not today.  _ Especially not today. _ Not when he’s hitting it out of the park to have her in his arms, all secluded, in quantum solace.   

With her banter on the issue of age, he is reminded of the little incident at the opera house with one of Gabi’s friends’ parent. A most fake-looking smile plastered across his lower face, etched brow tells the story otherwise; if your name wasn’t fucking Gabi. An assertive glare hiding the ebullience of the game’s prospect outcome, he lets out a defeated sigh and nods in agreement. “Fine,” ladling a copious amount of chili and steak onto each plate, eyes glint with scintilla as the knife cuts into the meat, chewing greedily as the renewed ravenous craving ends up being a panacea. “Heads.” Mumbling with his mouth full, he sets his plate aside on the blanket as he shifts in his seat to tug off his heavy boots. Toeing off to the side rather carelessly as he leans his back against the trunk of the oak tree. “Shoes don’t count as stripping off. Correct?” Not in my panoply of the idea of ‘stripping off.’ 

Wanting this moment to last sempiternal, his gaze lingers against the pastiche of nature. The opulent water, dancing with broad, impasto brush-marks, thick with worked on colors of the deepening night. The distant walls of the gorge entrapping them to remain by themselves. Acting as a protective barrier from the world, freezing the unfiltered thoughts from invading his quietude of the mind. As the night veils further to deepen the slanting penumbra of his form, the riparian continues to aglow with the swirling frame, contained in his pools along with her as an added element, a perfection. He’d pay the top dollar to be placed in this surrounding, the gentle whirl of the breeze offering coolness, in contrast to the cigarette and alcohol gradually boiling the heat. Taking a can or two of beer from Gabi’s backpack, he dives in to devour his humble feast, wanting no distraction as their game commences. He has ace in the hole - a tolerance of an elephant. Getting a head start with the lighter stuff wouldn’t even leave him a nick.  _ Let the drinking begin _ . 

___

Peaking under her closed hand she double checks dramatically at the face of the coin, it was heads, so it was now his turn to flip. “Correct, it is heads. Now it’s your turn to flip.” When he took his shoes off she shrugged.  _ Were shoes clothes? _ “I suppose they don’t count.”  Resting the coin on her thigh, she picked up her plate, camera, and palms the coin, carrying everything over of the opposite side of the blanket. Wanting to be closer, so she transfers everything to a better spot. Setting everything down but the coin down, she waited until he wasn’t chewing. “Catch.” She tossed the coin lightly underhanded to Nigel, he caught it one hand. Free to start eating she settled on her stomach on the blanket, and cut into her steak. With her head and plate near Nigel’s knee, her legs stretched out on the rest of the blanket, feet in the air kicking back and forth slowly.

The steak was so good, she was starving now, and it hit the spot. Cutting pieces off of the steak and dipped it in the chili for experimenting purposes. It was still good, so she decided to eat both together. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she glanced up at him. “This is really good.” She gave him thumbs up, and went back to eating. It didn’t take her long at all to devour her food, and when she was done she pushed the plate away.  Sliding the plate off to the side so it wasn’t on the blanket, she turned over on her back and lay looking up at the sky again. Bringing her leg down, she yanked off one of her boots and tossed it to the side, and then the other to join their little pile. It felt nice to not wear shoes, frankly if she could get away with it, she would never wear any, ever…

Arms out to the side she lay spread eagle on the blanket for a short while, just relaxing. At last she sat up and fished her phone from her pocket, she checked the time, and if she had any messages. There was a missed called from her father…  _ Fuck. _ She had forgotten, to let him know that she wouldn’t be home for the weekend. That couldn’t be good. She would call him in the morning and make her apologies. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that she would be in big fucking trouble when she finally got home. A frown turned the corners of her mouth, and she didn’t even know that she was making a face. It seems that lately she had been in her own little world. This was very unlike her, she was almost always taking care of other people, either her father or her few friends. For a week now, it felt like she was living inside a bomb shelter. Not knowing or caring about what is going on in the outside world.  Everything that was taking place right now inside was all that mattered to her.

Frankly she didn’t care that much, not this time, for once she wanted to live. She wanted to do things for herself, and not have to be the babysitter or the mother hen. She just wanted to have fun, and she was enjoying spending time with Nigel. In just the short amount of time that then knew each other; he was like her whole world now. Her cheeks already flushed, burned even brighter at the realization. Everything revolved around him, and them. Doing things together, getting to know each other. Finding out if, this, what ever this was, would work. She thought it could, it felt like it would. They weren’t as different as it appeared. Sure the age difference, but the more time she spent around him, the more she realized they had a lot in common. And even if she teased him about his age, it didn’t matter, she didn’t mean it, he didn’t act his age, and that was a good thing. He could have been some stuffy boring guy that was no fun, and did nothing, and she wouldn’t be here cause that would never had fucking worked at all. No, she didn’t do boring, it wasn’t in her vocabulary.

Mulling things over she had to wonder if it bothered him, the teasing. Most people didn’t mind it, and almost every guy she knew or met, took it for flirting, which it wasn’t. It was just something she did, and Nigel was certainly not most people. He seemed to have little triggers that might set him off; she could never really tell what it would be. Feeling guilty, she bit her lip, and cleared her throat. “If my teasing bothers you ever, I’m sorry. I don’t mean anything by it… “ There was a strong need for her to make it clear to him. No misunderstands between them over this would be ideal. She did not want to offend him, and or piss him off cause she forgot who she was talking to, and just lets any random crap fall out of her mouth.  She might not swear a lot, but she doesn’t have much of a filter when it comes to saying whatever she feels like. Hoping he didn’t take it personal, she twirled the ring on her left hand nervously. Spinning the ring around and around, settling it back into place, she shoved her phone in her backpack, where she didn’t have to look at it, then shifted to sit next to Nigel, back against the tree.


	65. Chapter 65

Waving his hand with a smug grin spreading to turn Cheshire, he easily catches the coin against the palm, his dominant hand still eager and urgently moving to ravenously slurp down the food, the taste becomes the secondary element as the embers, whirling as the night spreads thickly across the lush green, the scent of the foliage amplified through less sensations becoming the gentle white noises. The only remaining source of light faint sprinkles of stars along with the last bit of twilight fading into inky-black. Leaving the fire unattended for now, his ankles crossed near the edge of the blanket, he extends his limbs further, hearing the joints pop and the bit of tension, from earlier explosion of raw emotions stored in the quietude of his mind frame also release from the tight coil. The fizz from the beer offering both fresh coolness against the heated surge from the  _ tuica _ , gleaming hazel orbs contain the flame within, a languid sigh squeezing the air slowly from the confines of his cage. 

“Hm, I thought they didn’t count either.” It must be the amalgamation of all the scents; the slight dampness, the moisture clinging onto the jeans from the earth, the coolness seeping through the blanket, without being clammy and not pleasurable taking him right back to the peace within himself. The soft swaying and sighing of the shrubs by the water, an occasional glide along the surface of the water as glimmering crescents chisel across the rippling water, containing the diamonds scattered throughout the expanse of the sky. The rich fragrance of the earthiness from the meat and rich balance of sweetness and tartness rising off as the steam from the chili instantly warms him up, the liquor’s affect slowly dissipated throughout the body, dispersed all over to warm him further. He might feel colder a bit later by stripping and the alcohol making the core temperature cooler, but the sight of her appreciating the food makes everything up to draw the perfect picture. 

Grinning from cheek to cheek, he returns her gesture with his own appreciative nod. “I’m fucking glad you like it. It’s one of the only things I could cook up without fucking things up.” With the last morsel of steak cut up, he literally vacuums the juices up, both from the steak and the chili. Mopping up everything as the meat absorbs it. And he licks the plate clean, too. Remembering that he used to do it and joke about not having to clean his own plate. After that cathartic and almost purging detonation of emotions pouring out like a magma, the lava had been already considerably cooled down enough for him to walk over to pluck a strand of memory which had been dear to his heart - the most nostalgic and reminiscing one. Always out in the open with myriads of scars and cuts littered all over his limbs, one of the things he used to do with the dog had been marking all the trees he had been to with little twigs, underneath the trunk where the roots spread deep into the earth. Perhaps he would come up with the way to mark this unique chapter of his life.

Now, this particular oak tree had already held dear memories for him. When he grew sick and tired of the work, spending too much time day in, day out, the location had been the diamond in the rough. When insecurities and loneliness and ambiguous future got to him more than he cared to admit, this tree had served him a good purpose, just like in his childhood, the whole compacted woods became the only playground, where he could be himself. Through thick and thin, he could be on his own terms with bottles of booze and recharge his batteries to endure another day, month, year. In a world of destruction and the line of work he did at the club, this mosaic of tranquil solitude offered the fragments of love, held together in his mind. Knowing it wouldn’t be the only excursion they both will take, to this cabin, or some other place he hadn’t been there, he would let his wanderlust spirit take them wherever the world intends them to be in, or better,  _ where he would take her in, to see him whole as no individual ever had.  _

His gaze transfixed upon the multicolored flame, waltzing across the fire-pit as it contains within his hazel pools as eyes light up with fireworks inside them, Gabi’s voice plucks him right out of his pensive, hoping to etch their relationship within the very air they breath together, her, the embodiment of the light at the end of the tunnel. “If it really bothered me that fucking much, I wouldn’t be talking to you at all. I do that a lot with others too.” With a hand gesture as he shifts his hips, pulling her arm as she sits closer against him. If he had seen her feminine side at the opera, now it feels more like he’s with a protege or habitue, he winds his arm around her head in playful manner, gently locking it and nuzzling against the fiery locks. Scenting her hair as he flings the coin up in the air, watching it sparkle under the glowing flame. “Heads or tails? Your turn.” Setting the coin on top of his thigh, he wants to take a peek underneath, even before she gives an answer. 

____

Peacefully staring into the fire, she watches the flames flicker, and make crackling noises, and every so often a small popping sound. Loose limbed and lazy she allows Nigel pull her closer, and feeling him nuzzle against her hair, sent a chill down her spine, a warm, fuzzy, tingling shiver that makes her blink slowly like a cat. Never before had she been so friendly, or close with anyone, she had no siblings, and only a few close friends. She didn’t count how close she was with her father, because it wasn’t the same thing. There was no paranoid obligation to be the best she could be, and always making sure she didn’t step out of line with Nigel. No she was able to just be herself, and he seemed to take her for who she was. There was no dog and pony show with him; she didn’t have to pretend to be something she wasn’t. The thought when it crossed her mind made her stare at Nigel adoringly for a minute too long. Ruffling feathers like a bird in a bath, she came back to the present from staring at his face, she mumbled. “Let it be tails then.”

Palms flat together, and shoved between her thighs, and leaning farther into Nigel, she rest there just so. Their legs were stretched out straight in front of themselves. Wiggling her toes inside her socked feet, she let the warmth from the fire heat her lower body, and let the body heat from Nigel cloak her upper half. She didn’t trust herself not to touch him, so she kept her hands firmly planted between her thighs, and just sat there enjoying the small bit of contact. Every time she was near him, closer than arms length she felt she needed, no had to touch him. It was becoming subconscious, she was just pulled along a ley line and found herself reaching a hand out to him, or wanting to kiss him. Anything, any kind of touch, it didn’t matter, she wasn’t about to discriminate. Their bodies were in perfect feng shui, an invisible force that binds them together, the perfect opposite side to the same coin. Like yin and yang, the sun and the moon are different yet in perfect harmony always complimenting the other, and never in opposition.  

Feeling a moment of epiphany, she picked up her camera, and snapped a selfie of the two of them head to head. The glow from the fire illuminated everything into a nice orange glow, neither of them smiled; she hadn’t given them a chance. When she finally saw the photo take shape, they had the look of two cats watching the same bird, and plotting together just the perfect way to capture their unaware victim. They looked like trouble, and it amused her to no end, snorting she stuffed the picture in her breast pocket. “I like this one.” She commented. “We look like we mean business.” Maybe they did, there was a mission at hand the task of playing a silly drinking game, with the goal of getting drunk. Turning the camera over in her hands, always fidgeting with something, like she can’t sit still, she placed the camera between their knees for easy reach in case she had any other sudden urges to take a random photo.

With a start she realized she hadn’t told Nigel about the plan B pill she had taken earlier. It had bothered her, and gnawed at her like a dog with a bone. For only a little while, as soon as they set out on their journey, she had completely forgotten about it.  _ Was she that in deep, that she forgot anything and everything while she was with Nigel? _  Before she hadn’t made up her mind whether or not to tell him about it, now she knew. So far there had been no secrets nor lies between them from her, so in keeping with that frame of mind and outline, she knew she was going to tell him. Everything had happen so quickly, that seemed to be becoming a habit with the two of them together.

With the booze making her a little chattier then usual, she started talking, before she could even think about what to say, and how to say it. “I took a plan b pill, earlier, because of our morning…. Work out.” Lips pursed together in slight shock at her sudden slip of the tongue. Before he could reply she continued. “I suppose I’ll look into going on some sort of birth control, when we get back to civilization, if this is going to be a common occurrence.” She said it in a sort of joking tone, like sex would be something rare, and only happen once in a blue moon. She raised both eyebrows at him, eyes lifting with a sort of blank expectant look on her face, as if asking for his opinion, and waiting for the other shoe to drop. As joking as teasing as she sounded, there was a note of seriousness to it, she hoped that this was going to be a common occurrence, she just couldn’t afford to get pregnant in her position, she was still in school and had other things she wanted to do before kids even crossed her mind. She couldn’t stop the crimson shade of red she turned, and wanting to bury her face in her hands. 


	66. Chapter 66

It’s so easy to get hopelessly lost in the nature, enveloped in an occasional rush of wind, a blur of glimmering light grazing across the surface of the lake, sharing a tranquil moment of silence. His steady ebb and flow of heartbeat and a subtle tingling sensation gradually spreading over his skin as the night deepens. It is another place and time, away from crowds streaming in and out, the cacophonous sound of hustle and bustle drowned in deep niche of his mind. As veil of thick black curtain draws to shun the whole world outside, the air spins with brightness as a field of tiny glittering stars dance across the vastness. Then he sees a Pegasus’s grand stretch of wings, fluttering along as the mythical creature materializes right before his eyes. The genie whirling from the lamp, the dusted flecks becoming the milky way, unfolded and stretched within his hand’s reach. 

Feeling like a purring big cat, the guttural flutter of his vocal chords imminent and amplified with the fizz of the beer, he feigns obliviousness as his head tips gently against the rough bark of the oak tree. It’s like being in a comfortable trance without any additives or disturbances. All the coiled, weighty tension melted away as a skillful sets of masseuse’s hands had swept across his tight muscles. Letting the faint specter of a smirk grace his lower face, he takes a peek between the index and middle. “Nope, heads. Which means I have to go again.” His left hand idly stroking over the length of her forearm to back of her hand, he flings the coin in a dramatic manner, watching it glisten as the crisp sound breaks the flooding silence. Behind the hazel pupils, the intensity materializes and contains the crackling embers and with eyes of a sharpshooter, he could simply call and make it with the rotations of the coin without even confirming it.  _ Heads again _ . The revolution and the texture of Romanian coat of arms as clearly etched as his fingerprints. 

As his external facade gruff and glum looking as his usual etched expression, the blank expression with almost unnoticeable curl of his lips, faintly hinting the ghost of a smirk. The photos aren’t the only way to grasp onto his perception of the world. It would only tell a snippet of the story, transfixed as a set image on a computer screen. Might as well as he looks the same when he did a half a year ago before he was stuck between the mold of his bed and damp and suffocating humidity of the Romanian summer heat. The moment will never change. His quirkiness and grouchiness that had accompanied him like a phantom company. But he was literally a completely different person. Wearing a different veil, perhaps rendered more useless in the presence of her. She could be his healing angel, the most closest friend, giving him checks and balances, shining like celestial bodies for who she loves. His corporeal coalesced into a shooting star, directed only for her, his other missing half he yearned for. There would be no dark side of the moon for her, mysteriousness, fear of the unknown, the weighty solitude filled with vanished sun, sky turned smoky gray with heavy fog.  

“Speaking of business, you should come to my club someday. Perhaps on a Friday night when it goes all berserk with bands playing and people going fucking nuts over the music. It’ll be louder than the roaring thunder across the barren field.” Glancing over the photo, the spreading flame tinges his skin into a glowing copper, like a great fireball slowly rising over inside from his eye-sockets, green specks offsetting the orange to make him almost look like a demon. A villain with a heart of gold. Never dipping his feet in the prostituting business one of them, being overly protective of the girls who worked at the establishment the other. Never the one to meddle between anyone’s business, but he knew many of his associates who had banged many of them. Now the tumultuous and debauched recklessness of Don Giovani-esque twenties behind him, he had employed that vigorous energy to be directed at work.

Tipping his head as he takes a considerable quaff, the gnawing crackle of embers radiate in gentle halos, cocooning him from every direction possible. Taking delight in the coolness along with the crisp fresh cold air, lips slack as he registers her words. Veering slightly towards her direction as a hand presses against his thigh, the coin underneath trapped between the growing warmth. Lips smacking down as he lets out a chuckle, a wicked smirk tugs his cheek, creating a dip. “You fucking know it’ll be a common  _ recurrence _ .” He could hear the unmistakable swoosh of adrenaline and the alcohol affecting him, more so than he cares to admit. “Well, I know you’re still in school and everything, so it’s not my fucking decision to tell you what you should do. However, come as you may, if we count and consider this as a proper fucking date, we’ve barely known each other about a week.”  _ Only a week? His brain does flips and jumps and shit. It feels much much longer than that. _ “To be fucking frank, it feels like I’m riding a chariot when I’m with you - galloping and barreling through the sky, nothing impossible, even though sometimes it sends my fucking legs to wobble. Breathless, running with slackened reins.”  _ It’s uncontrollable, the things you do to me.  _

____

Always her mind worked in overdrive, barely settling down enough for sleep, unless she was exhausted or surprisingly, just had sex. Those were the few times, when her brain shut up and let her just peacefully fall into a deep sleep. Now it was going through an obstacle course and a drill sergeant was yelling at her to pick up the pace, and calling her a coward. Her mind didn’t seem to know what to focus on first, she felt like sponge bob in that one episode where he can’t remember his own name because all he knew was fine dining and breathing, and it was tantamount to a global melt down. The booze must have been slowly wearing off cause she didn’t feel as at ease as she had just a few moments ago. Head back against the tree she closed her eyes and settled herself down.

The news about him inviting her to his club?! Had been a slight shock to the system, but she didn’t have much time to think about it, as she had felt the desire to bring up the plan b pill at the most inopportune moment. She was always doing that; sometimes she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut.  _ It really could have waited, but noooo. _ It had to be right then and there. Glossing over the fact that he owned his own club, he wanted to take her to it. Now came to the matter of his reply about sudden confession. It had been a completely different reaction than she was expecting. Honestly she hadn’t really considered what his reaction would be; with Nigel you could never be sure. This hadn’t seemed to faze him one bit, and still he was full of so many surprises. She found that for a little while, she didn’t know what to say first.That rarely happen to her.

Voice pitching a little high, “I-I… hm.” She had to stop herself, cleared her throat, and removed her hands from between her legs, sitting up a little bit. Turned just enough to look him in the eyes, she searched his face. What a strange an unusual person he was, like no one she had ever met, and she had a habit it meeting a lot of random persons with her out going personality, but he remained a curious epicenter of mystery and originality. It intrigued her beyond all reason, and made her want to spend every waking moment with him, learning about him, talking to him, and just coexisting in the same orbit as he did. Finally finding her voice again she squeaked out a response. “I think… that maybe the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” There was a moment where she just sat staring at him with a look of confused bewilderment, like she really had no clue what she was going to do with him.

Lightning quick, she lunged forward, and moving to straddle his hips, she placed a hand on either side of his face, and kissed him softly on the lips. She could taste that awful beer on his lips, but she didn’t care, she’d endure any nasty tasting flavors as long as it came from his lips. A little breathlessly she paused from their kiss to tell him. “And yes, yes I’ll go with you to your club, any where you want to go, just ask, and I’ll say when.” Leaning foreword she pressed her forehead to his, she kept up the locked eye contact. His eyes, the most intense thing the world, only pulled her in more glowing the way they did the firelight.  It didn’t feel like a week, it had never felt like a week, three days or even a day, it always felt like an endless lifetime. Of shared glances, unspoken words, of dangers shared, and a million subtle touches, tender kisses, and passionate sex.

Calling out a random face, she told him. “Tails.” She whispered it against his lips like a naughty word, as if it would start smoking and burn a hole against your skin. Removing her right hand, just enough, she slid it along his cheek farther down his neck, to touch the bite mark above the tattoo. It looked tender and sore, and it made her eyes pupils dilate like a predator knowing that she was the reason it was there. She liked marking him, and turned her on to know he liked it too. Tilting her head to the side, she placed a feather light kiss to the small wound, and the flicked out her tongue to taste it. She couldn’t resist, and she rubbed her head against his cheek, almost like a cat would. Although she was always good with words, and almost always had something to say for the most part it was only with him that she found herself speechless, he always took the words right out of her mouth.   _ What could she say to that, what he had told her?  _ Anything she would say seemed like it would be inadequate.  “It would seem… that fate and circumstance has brought us together. Because, now that I found you. I can’t remember what life was like with out you in it.” She laid her head against his shoulder, and just stared at the bite mark, the tattoo, and the side of his neck.


	67. Chapter 67

Fingers splayed over the rim of the beer can, he continues to minister an idle stroke over the chilled surface, scattered with dew along the aluminum. sending a contrasting sensation from the spreading warmth from the alcohol and Gabi’s pressed back. It’s so effortless to connect all the strewn thoughts, gathering up all the fragments of the tower of Babel to reconstruct his quietude of his mind, the frame supported by buttresses, the chariot metaphor he had just casually flung to her like skipping stones over the very lake stretched in front of him in a reflection of his psyche; caressed deeper than anyone ever had in his life. Along innumerable sea of faces, of acquaintances and passerby, how the tome had been presented in the most readable format. Luscious, ripples swinging back and forth as gentle metronome. Underneath the scrambled and unreconstructable disarray of scraps, he finds his most raw and untainted form, the lone tree in a desolate field, beyond the destructed city, the world full of ominous silence and caliginous mist. 

The tiger had leaped up from the bushes as it had been hidden in the shrubs and his hazel still blaze behind the gently closed lids, teeth had already shone like daggers as a loaded smile tugs his lips. It never felt so real and satisfied. Rocking in lethargic rhythm as he effervescently drifts in and out of the reverie, the dreams of swaying in a boat under the dark treetops, offering penumbra under the a blur of blinding light. Immediately taken into the embodiment of an eight-year-old boy, the moment of incomparable solace before his life got a share of curve-balls. Instead of trying to put together crumbled, torn and wrinkled pieces of the faded past together with cracked spine and stagnancy of persistence of haunting memory, he could be assembling the mosaic pieces together to create their unique and superlative one, building a field of glittering stars, becoming the milky way along with the black hole in the smack dab in the middle that _ he would offer no resistance to be hurtled into. _

Lulled out of the uncharacteristic reticence as he senses movement, his eyes continue to blaze with oil-fueled lamp, the pigments growing with an orange tint. Lips curled like a leopard, a curious tilt of his head follows as he absorbs her reaction through the cracks of his frayed memory. Becoming threadbare with haunting sensations and scents. Squeezing the life out of him like a python would suffocate and ribs turn toothpicks, perforating and turning against him in the long run. _No more of the walls closing in, the broken pieces breaking his viscera._ _Never broken and splayed open like a corpse in the autopsy room_. “I have merely told you what I felt from deep down. No fucking orchestration nor refinement on my part.” Feeling like this is the first time he’d ever remotely said something romantic without being too effusive, he savors the moment, so he could never forget this tingling sensation, in a form of a chill, going down the spine. Maybe it was the guzzle that he had taken which had added on the sensation, or the perception of it. 

Hearing the can give under his firm fingertips, he lets go of the almost empty can, swallowing her whole as his hazel pool lights up with more flame. Surrounded by walled rock-face encasing them in from the outside world, Mind reels, like a bunch of trapeze artists tumbling and spinning around behind fluttering eyelids. His fingers instinctively searching for that gentle curve of her dimple. His gaze smoldering as he zooms into her features,  _ this moment alone, is ample enough in the pages of his dictionary _ . Except, there is one thing he wished to tell her, perhaps later when they’re more committed to each other. It’s never down to the wire that he could ever eloquently define the state of their relationship. With bare six days stretching into weeks and even months. 

A hand poised over on her thigh now as fingers curl and round over her side, he confirms his guess that it had indeed been heads. “Heads.” Stretching almost imperceptibly as a cock of his head brushes his upper lip against the most plump part of her own, he does his level best to not emit any sound when the gentle ripple halos against the tender skin. The desiderium morphed into a spark of exquisite desire, now turning upward as it licks over his spine in the opposite way. Enslaved by the act as a languid stretch of his neck arches his spine against the rugged bark, it’s so hard not to let himself go, losing motivation to offer up any counteraction. The drinking game the last thing on his mind about now, her interpretation of their relationship, a collaboration between predestination and surreptitiousness, the eloquence reduces into broken English as the communication breaks down. “I think the name of the game is not finishing this fucking game at all. You are a constructed image of a pillar, and my home away from home.”  _ No more of a phantasm of his shadow the only genuine company _ . His fingers close around the coin, disregarding it as it disappears inside her jacket pocket. “No more fucking game, it’s more of a distraction than the genuine entertainment.”      

___

Sitting in Nigel’s lap loosely draped across his body like a blanket, she stares unblinking at the side of his neck. The only noise is the sound of the fire, the night slowly creeping in, and their breathing. Being so close to him, she listens, ear pressed to his chest, as she slides down a little lower. His heart beat hammering in her ear; she closes her eyes, to concentrate on that alone.  When he starts to speak again it almost makes her jump. The tone of his voice, and the noise reverberating through his chest, it sounds strange with her head lying just so. Like a deep rumbling vibration with each word he speaks. Closing and opening her eyes, blinking in a content sort of cat like communication. They speak with their eyes, and supposedly if they blink at you they love you. Even though the way she was laying didn’t allow him to see her eyes, she let the feeling seep out of every pore.

Sitting up to look at him, fully in his lap now, she glances down as he tucks the coin into her pocket. Like a thief or a magician he makes it disappear. Out of sight out of mind, now you see it, now you don’t. The true act is not the game, but in the two of them, and what they are together. It had been naive of her to think they needed a game to get to know each other or even to relax. “We clearly don’t need any silly games to have a good time, and it doesn’t matter what we do, everything has been fun at your side.”  She couldn’t really explain it in so many words, but something about being near him, and spending time with him, was the best thing that ever happen to her. There was never a boring or dull moment. It was sometimes a shock to the system at how much she enjoyed his unique and interesting out look on life. Doing whatever he pleased, and saying whatever the fuck he wanted.  

With the idea now firmly planted in her mind, she realized that she could do what she wanted with out fear of being reprimanded or worrying about disappointing someone. Taking up the bottle of Țuică in hand, she took a drink from it, doing her best not to make a face. With a grin she added. “I’ll get drunk, and let you take my clothes off, isn’t that what we were working towards anyways?”  With a small laugh she pressed the bottle into his hands for a moment. Sliding her arms out of her leather and cloth jacket, she folded it over, and then tossed it to the side on the far side of the blanket. It showed white sleeves with black stripes, stopping to expose shoulder, but was then covered with a black tank top with a Ouija board on the front.  After shedding her jacket she took the bottle back from him, and took another smaller drink.

Bottle still clutched in both hands, it was resting just on his stomach between their two bodies. She leaned forward, so cautiously to kiss him close lipped. Testing, and feeling out the waters, almost as if she were dipping in a toe to see if it was too cold or not, to go in all the way. In reality, she wanted nothing more than to jump in cannonball style, and let him take her down into his depths. To sink in, and float on her back to be carried away in the tide. Kissing him deeper, she allowed herself to taste him again, head tilted to the side, eyes closed, and trying to paint a picture in her mind of how they would look right now. Leaning back a little bit, to stop their kiss, mesmerized she trailed her thumb slowly across her lower lip. Finally eyes still locked with his, she brought the bottle back to her lips, and she took another sip.  

Swallowing visibly, she let the liquor burn her from the inside. While the gaze he held with her burned her on the outside. Like a candle being lit from both ends. Passing the bottle to him again, she traced her fingers, down his arm, of the one that didn’t hold the bottle. Turning his palm up, she looked down at it as if she were able to read his future in the palm of his hand. All of his secrets laid bare for her to pluck out at will. With a nail she traced a deep line that ran along the middle. Lightly as if she was afraid of breaking a thing. The calluses on his hand were rough, but she liked the way it felt, she touched them each in turn. Feeling a sudden impulse, she planted a kiss to his palm, and sat staring at him, hovering over his hand like a gentleman, or a dog over a bone. With out thinking about it, she let her tongue reach out and slide along the line in the middle of his palm. The salty taste of his skin warmed her to the core, and she inclined her head to the side to rest her head against his hand. Mumbling she told him.  “I think you won the game.” She didn’t mention which game, since they always seemed to be playing a game of sorts, but the one where he captured her heart, that was indeed the one she knew for sure he had won. 


	68. Chapter 68

It could be from her lick along the tender spot, where she had marked him from earlier, or most likely, the shiver growing to turn into a pressurized column of tremble oscillating as the pendulum swings in his head. Locked in petrified paroxysm, he lets his carnality succumb to the most raw and unfiltered reaction, the gentle whiff of crisp coldness painting goosebumps all over his skin. The first nick of winter is still far from coming in his mind, but the coziness and quaint feeling rippling through the vaporized smoke dissipating helps him to recreate the wonderfully comfortable and sweet woodsy scent of the cold winter’s eve. His mind instantly traveling there as he whirls along with the crepitation of the fire and the snapping twigs, gray soot adding on to that lingering scent, shrouding them to hurl them into a mythical woods, sequestered from the refinement of the city-life, where they could relinquish all unforeseeable discrepancies of the hectic life. 

Once again, his rhythmic percussion of steady base and lub-dub of her more softer beating against his chest becoming effortlessly composed melodious tune, attuned to each other’s cadence, begins to overwhelm his senses. His vocal cords and each deep resonating tune becoming something akin to a pipe organ’s combination pistons. Varying in timbre and volume, his vessel etherealized to embody the resplendence of enthralling sounds, waltzing across the atmosphere with grace. Like deeply rooted oak tree behind him, he literally turns into the part of the bark, the thickest membrane that saps all the vitamins and minerals off the soil beneath him. The sole source of his energy at this very moment, under the stretched field of the sparkled gems and a blur of radiant light offered by the moon. The blood rushing as the swoosh of the rhythmic surge of current amplifies as if her eardrum had been an amp. A stethoscope directly over his strongest muscle,  _ too deafening against the vessel.  _

“Too many fucking steps, not much action to suffice for my liking.” Lips almost cruelly curling up with a hint of mischievousness, his mind oscillates between sense and nonsense, all revolving around her and what to do with her at this very moment. Clearly, there had been no right or wrong - he had all the fucking time in the world and the metronome in his mind ticks faster until adagio picks up to jump straight to allegro without any in between. His stretched out toes curling inside his socked feet and fingers tapping restlessly against the space between another open can of beer and his inner thigh, where he could still feel the gentle tingle from the earlier exploration of how his bodily sense had affected him, he embraces the fool in him. The one who had felt too much, communicated both in his tranquil silence via his quietude and the one which lacks his almost nonexistent self-control, more often loses and wins much less. “ _ Let  _ you? Think again, Missy.” 

With a feigned coyness, lips curl as the penetrative eyes etch through her face, giving her a tiny shove along the side as brows lift, hazel pools subtly narrow as the deep ridges pinch and slack in a nanosecond. Sprucing up as he holds the bottle, fingers rake over the stubborn lock that had been fallen across his forehead, pinching the left eyebrow and immediately, he takes a considerable guzzle, his adam’s apple slowly bobbing up and down along with small successions of swallows. Relishing the burn as the liquor slowly heats the windpipe, the generated heat traverses throughout the torso, offering a dense layer of steamy fog along his core, expanding his chest even further in return. Like an expanding hot balloon, floating in the heavenly air, the head spinning and whirling, faster than the speed of a meteorite about to collide with the earth. 

Reciprocating her advances, he matches the gentleness at first, the collision inside his heart and brain a tight tug-of-war. There’s no winning and losing, per say. There’s only the right choice.  _ That’s it.  _ Fingers stretched out, they curl around her side of the face, pushing the stray of hair off as it rounds towards the back of her head, deepening the kiss as lips mold tightly against hers. Groping, savoring, tasting, invading. Like a rattlesnake’s tail giving off that vibe of warning and the imperceptible stilling of his head as she breaks the kiss. Intently watching him, he accepts his own body, turning into an embodiment of a rising tide against the jagged rocks, getting tempestuous by the minute with million fists surfacing around the gleaming sea, about to swallow the rock formation whole. A visible swallow does nothing to quench the surging rev of his heart, pushing against the walls of the cage, threatening to be detonated.  _ Patience _ . As if he was uttering a spell upon himself, he might be tame now, not anymore. He wishes she could feel and see how heated his skin is and how his breathes are expelled out like a brazen bull. With her acknowledgement, the idleness in him completely ablaze and he lunges like a matador, Gabi turned into his bull. Holding her by the stretch of the tank top, his teeth become daggers, as he closes in the distance with a serpentine movement. Intending to rip off the garment. 

___

With a yelp of surprise she found herself lying on her back on the blanket, with Nigel between her legs, hands gripped tight in her shirt. Blinking up, eyes moving away from stargazing to the top of his head, he had a piece of her shirt between his teeth. Biting a hole in the fabric with his teeth, he then ripped her shirt open with his bare hands. The thin shirt separated between his hands like water, she now wore it like an open button down. Her mouth was parted in protest, but no words came out. Even more shocking was she didn’t care. Letting out a laugh, she pulled him by the back of the head, hand planted in his hair. Wiggling downward, and pulling him up a little bit, she crushed their lips together. She still had the white and black striped crop top on underneath the now shredded shirt, the only part of her body it covered was her arms and the small band tight across her chest. Her collar, shoulders, and everything from her breastbone down was exposed to her navel where her jeans began. Under the crop top she wore no bra, as she often didn’t need it, with her small chest, you wouldn’t have known with the tank top on. Now with that gone, her nipples stood out hard against the fabric of the crop top. 

She could feel the new round of booze working in her system, everything was in slow motion, and she was back to being in an extremely good mood. The world could have fallen down around them; she wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass. Kissing him like it was the only thing anchoring her to the earth, she ran her hands through his hair, pulling at strands, and kneading the back of his neck. Arms sliding down to plant on either side of his shoulders, pushing him back slightly, they traveled lower to the middle of his chest. She jerks her hands to the side pulling fabric, and separating his shirt like the red sea, buttons went pinging in every fucking direction.  With her legs locked around his waist, she pulled him back down by his collar, wanting to feel his chest against her own. Kissing him again, she wasn’t gentle; she bit him on the lip hard enough to bruise. Her tongue probing his mouth, pressing as close as she could to him, trying to mold herself to his body. Every hard part of him that touched her skin, made her wet, and she raked her nails across his chest leaving long red marks, but not breaking skin.

Even with the sluggish movements of the alcohol working through her veins, and was turned on by his rough hands, and the way he man handled her. She couldn’t even believe the shit that was going through her mind, the things she wanted him to do to her, she didn’t care what it was and the harder or more violent the better. That, she swallowed down like a hard pill, she didn’t want to push her luck just yet. They barely knew each other, and they didn’t have boundaries set up, she didn’t know what would be ok, and if those things were even ok. Her whole life she heard that thinking this way was bad, but to her it felt so right. Self doubt lurked in the corner of her mind, and made her question her own morals. An involuntary shiver shook through her core, and she closed her eyes, it was almost painful, trying to keep herself from doing the things she wanted so bad.

There was a destructive violent streak in her that made her throat close up tight. It wasn’t even the things she wanted to do to him, it was a combination. A mix of the things she knew he could do to her in turn.  _ Who wants to play chicken with the train on the track, or let the wild animal bite you? _ She was breathing a little too heavy. It went so far as to feel the desire for him to burn her with a cigarette, she wanted to feel the hot press, and searing pain at the point of impact.  To bare the mark of a tiny scar on her skin, marring the white porcelain perfection, the thought made her shudder. She could scream with frustration at how much she wanted it, and to take his pain and suffering he’d ever endured into herself, to steal it away. If she could be the barer of his pain she would gladly do so, it would make them almost indestructible. Him not able to feel pain, and her absorbing it all, every punch, blow, or cut.

Thinking maybe that it was the booze in her talking, she had to stop kissing him, to stare up at him with eyes blow wide, and an all consuming desire. Normally this was the part where she’d get up and run for the hills, she sometimes felt better running from her problems, but right now she couldn’t bring herself to do that to him. She felt overwhelmed and didn’t know what direction to turn to, the world was spinning and she didn’t know how to make it stop. In a moment of heart felt confession, a pleading look, and a drowning sorrow of being lost at sea with nothing to hold on to. “I’m scared… I’m scared of what I want you to do to me.” With eyes too bright, and throat tight, it was hard to swallow. For the moment she wanted nothing more than to relinquish all control to him, and let him do with her what he will. She was content to let him dominate her, since she didn’t know how far he’d let her push him. There was nothing she wouldn’t let him do to her. Admitting that to herself was a little frightening. Knowing you couldn’t tell a person no, no matter the out come, and whatever the request. He could have asked her to jump off a bridge, and she’d do it. As dangerous as that notion was, she had a moment of pure clarity, and she realized she trusted him. Adding to her earlier statement, she clarified, “All I know is I trust you, even if it scares me, its the only thing I’m sure of anymore.”


	69. Chapter 69

Already having tumbled down with the point of no return, all the veins push up to the epidermal, caught in an event horizon, where the gravitational pull becomes so great that it would be inescapable. Might as well as he gets pulled apart in the most atomic sense -   _ until he is reduced to skin and bones, particles and ashes in the galaxies _ . The thin fiber separates effortlessly, like the Red Sea creating the gorge-like walls, cocooning them into this very moment even further. Knees planted between her legs and pushing them up as her arms slither and coil around him like a constricting boa, their kiss is akin to a stellar collision; two matter colliding with such a force to let every sense of his corporeality and psyche know. His body molds onto her like the cracked ground, after long months of drought, absorbing every drop of downpour as the thunder rolls, ghost-like whisper whirling the atmosphere before a gnarling etch of the lightning roars across the vast canvas. A series of rockets streaking into the sky, bursting into many colored confetti as each drop quenches the dehydration. Past the thin stacks of pastries, lips latched firmly against hers as he tastes the lingering fruity bitterness of the spirits, calloused and burning warmth of his fingertips trail along her side, fingers curling to become hidden talons, ripping the obstruction into pieces.  

A moment of breathless silence accompanied with a paroxysm of spark whipped up along the length of his spine, warmth from the core surges upward. As his blazing eyes fixates upon her, he etches every sensation across his clothed skin, the few inch of guzzle effectively adding onto the brimming warmth, effervescing over as his hips instinctively rock against her. Maybe this is all he could strive and covet for -  _ deadly in love, getting drunk in venom. _ Her soft lips, reaching for her unclothed skin, presented before him as he both caresses lusciously and savagely ravages, feeling her body underneath his and feeling the reverberating pulse beating against two pressed cages. Exchanging wordless hitches of breathes as hands work to make the concave sand castle. Sleepwalking through her flesh, imprinting his fingerprints and burning her with his radiant warmth as he feels every minute ripple and rise and fall of her pristine whiteness. 

Feeling like a runaway, having faced emotionally-charged and running on cortisol-fueled bouts of recklessness and violence, nothing is incomparable to this very night. Never looking back as this particular stretch of night marks another beginning, a new chapter upon his book. Sucked into a gradually deepening kiss as a fervent whirl depletes and squeezes his lungs tight, he gasps out a fluttering sigh, knocked out of breath as concurrently as she pushes him away. Arms frantically jerking away as he chucks the sleeves off in a heartbeat, as soon as the buttons strewn all over the blanket, the fish out of the water transforms into a strong-muscled shark, thrashing to get the hindering fabric off his frame. Muscles expanding and stretching with boiling heat, bubbling over the surface as  the perfect lotus blossom grows from the pitch-black, the slanting penumbra accentuating his muscular back as the crackling embers contour around it to give him a presence of a Greek god. Almost hidden in a chiaroscuro. 

As the lotus’ beauty can be measured with how dark and thick the mud is, all of his beauty cannot live with his deviance and quirkiness. _ All of him _ , presented in the most raw and animalistic form. The graceful beauty and his fierce, savage nature. You cannot have one without the other. The shirt merely turned into a piece of rag, the uncontrollable rampancy rises the tide, entrapping her beneath his cage. As he feels the infinitesimal amount of blood through the bruised skin, the familiar copper-rich tang of blood against the tongue as muscles entwine. Legs straddling her down as his hardened length continues to draw the wash of wave down his lower abdomen. An unstoppable rage-like lust surfacing visibly through his tinged cheeks, gaining propulsion as he lurches forward.  

With the gnawing flame, materialized into angry fists as its luster and crackling sparks stay behind him, curling him from behind as his heart threatens to spread the ribcage apart, the oscillating pulse beating percussion in his brain. Eyes dripping with pure luster and bonfire, he relishes the breathless silence once again for a moment before trembling arms unfurl away from her. Immediately working to unwind the belt from his skin-tight jeans, pupils become laser, as he registers her half-naked form. “All the fucking more reason why we should approach this with no reluctance. I don’t fucking fear for what I am about to do to you in this very moment.” Like a whirling torrent, anticipation and exhilarated vigor licks all over his skin. Lips slack, his unkempt hair falls to cup around his cheeks, and he is painfully aware of his erection. As much as he wants to dive in without any extraneous ‘acts’ attached to it, her admission has a ring to it. And he is spoiled for choice as he considers the options. Watching her beg, restrained and having her turn into a puddle underneath him without him ever touching her much. Arms wind around the back of her neck, he pushes her up enough to discard all the mere distractions. Flesh-to-flesh as he brings both of her legs back, his chin presses against the curve of her shoulder blade. As he loops the belt around her wrists, he could feel a bit of stubble scratch her dewlap as he slithers with a serpentine movement. “I’m sure we don’t need any safeword for this, but do fucking enlighten me,  _ darling _ , when it becomes too unbearable.”   

____

Staring at him unable to move as he tears the rest of his shirt off, it confirms her suspicions. Every doubt she had lurking in her mind falls away with his ruined top.  With his declaration, and the removal of his belt from around his waist, she grows more eager. It’s like letting the wild darkness inside her heart free. She practically offers herself up to him, on a silver platter. There is no way she could ever predict him, and she doesn’t want to. Every new twist and turn is a new link forged in a chain binding them together. Shackled to his soul as he wraps the leather around her wrists, the term safeword is unfamiliar to her ears, but she can guess the meaning. Eyes narrowed at the oak tree, while he pressed close to her so he can secure the binding.

Even through his tight jeans she can feel his erection, and it has her almost begging him for everything and anything. Even still if she is to play bottom to his top there would never be a time when she would be completely passive, and permissive. She didn’t want to play nice and submissive; she wanted him to earn his dominance of her. There is nothing that can be done for the aggressive side of her that rears its ugly head. With a glint in her eyes, she waits, and allows him to finish what he is doing. Like biding her time for the right moment to strike, and calculating tender spots, and weak points. The moment he is finished fussing with the belt, she whispers in his ear, while he is still close enough. The scratch of stubble enough to make her eyes flutter. “I hope you know I won’t make this easy for you.”

Nothing is ever simple with her; it’s always layered with multiple things. Sure she’ll play, and be bottom, but she isn’t just going to just lay there and take it like a limp doll. Oh she’ll take it like a champ, but at the same time, she’ll make him fight for it. In a way, this is like her inner animal testing him to see if he is the right mate for her. It’s clear he isn’t weak, and that satisfies her beast, but there is still a question of whether he’ll play how she wants him to. Eyes lowered and glittering with a sort of malice that she can’t even begin to understand, she coils herself tight. Muscles bunching as she draws in on herself, making for a small target. Her heart is pounding her chest, an almost roar in her ears, trying to make sense of what she is about to do. Everyone has a flight or fight response, but hers has always leaned more towards fight, and she is quivering all over for a fight she knows she can’t win, but wants more than words can even describe.

In a slowed down pause, they are locked together for only a moment more. Getting her knees underneath her body, she licks a stripe across the bite mark on his neck, and then bites down on it again, nothing to hard, but enough. It doesn’t take much as its still tender, and she can tell it hurts. Tasting the faint tang of blood on her lips, she jabs him in the torso, just where his healing scar lies along his side. It’s enough for her to roll away, across the blanket, and she is up on her knees. Watching him hold on to his side she can tell he is pissed. Drinking his rage down, with a glance, she lets it fill her lungs. Her whole body is shaking with adrenaline, and she hisses out, with a devilish smirk. “If you want me, you need to catch me.” Springing to her feet, she is off. Hands still bound, but she doesn’t care. It’s awkward, but she has always been quick on her feet.

Panting hard, and running blindly into the night, she makes for the tree line; she has no fucking clue where she is going. It feels like she is in a horror movie, only this time she wants to be caught. There is no fear in her now, and she feels more alive than she has in so long she can’t even remember. Breathing so hard she feels she might faint, she rests against a tree, a branch caught her across the cheek and had left a tiny little cut on her cheekbone. She didn’t feel it or notice it for the adrenaline pushing away all pain responses. Later she’ll feel the sting, and probably be left with the memory in a scar. Waiting she listens for foot steps, and trying to catch her breath, its exhilarating, and she’s never done anything like this. Maybe some day they can go play paint ball or lazer tag.  _ Now that would be a fucking blast _ . Right now, she had bigger things to worry about. She was about to find out just how far down the rabbit hole she had fallen, and just how dark the wells in those hazel pools ran. 


	70. Chapter 70

This instance could be counted as something too beautiful to be narrowed down to be art. The sensation, the etched memory of this excursion  _ too much, too real and too alive _ to be contained by the canvas. Strokes painted by the other’s hand, only to be forgotten when the next hot stuff comes around. The spreading heatstroke - like the air growing thick and wavy as the soaring fire bites and culminates further to spread the rush of power, gentle and subtle, yet forceful and blinding. Materialistic things can be easily replaced and he rarely holds any sentimental values to his clothes. Except his leather jacket that had been his second skin since his early twenties, fitting him like a spandex suit. As boundless drive propels him further, the fire in his veins expand and unyielding exaggerated gesture, he watches the dark gray shirt cloak in an undulation, spark of ember catching the sleeve as the smoky scent of the gnawing oak wood bind with his own musk and a trace of cigarette.   

Every hair on his body standing with both growing anticipation and each reflecting ebb and flow, shared between the negative spaces that they share, intimate as their pore breathes against pressed skin, he scrutinizes the restraint as he gives it a sharp tug. Snug, coiled tight just enough to leave a faint mark along her porcelain skin. In a flutter of time, he could feel the roaring growl press against the back of his throat, bubbling over as piercing orbs continue to bear a field of glittering stars. Entrenched as he knows they will be playing the unresolved resolution, not unforeseen as he looked upon her dualistic nature as an adventure, to enjoy and be enjoyed simultaneously. 

The deep-rooted belief about her confirmed by her statement, he lets the gentle flutter spawn from the depth of his core, soaring along the length of his spine as his exposed sun-kissed skin to glow along with the gentle flush, the alcohol’s effect becoming more visible. “Expected and amply noted, it’s fucking gratifying to know that the one who works so hard shall earn the reward.” Making his body to tinge with orange glow as a giant slanting mist of wavy flame paints against film of perspiration, the galloping throb of his heartbeat heightens with the pause of time, the dead silence as his dilly-dallying continues. Expectancy boosts the fighting aspect, while he could conjure up a picture of predictable outcome. Like the Bucharest plaza coming alive with food vendors and street performers during the weekend when the height of the nightlife unfolds, every nerve invigorates as the fuse swiftly begins to burn. 

Her lick along the tender flesh feels like preening. Moving like a big cat as the chest fluff grazes against her androgynous chest, offering his neck as he gently sways, the rising tide of heat painting his body with awakening thrum. Until the lunging movement sends him into a precarious zone. The draw of blood had done its job to aggravate him enough to etch him with a violent streak, the droplet brims over the skin and begins its sleepwalking along the hardened flesh, the familiar wickedness and grave sight flashes before him. What is about to become an internally mumbling transforms into an ample seething string of gravelly profanities. “Motherfucking shit! _ Fiu nenorocit de cățea.” Motherfucking son of a fucking bitch, damn this hurts fuck tons.  _ Growing breathy with raucous growl pushing through the back of his throat, a faint push of diaphanous saltiness becomes visible as his body instinctively coils, anger spawning and a grimacing scowl bares his dagger-like teeth, narrowed gaze penetrating with flurries of blades. 

Ruptured out of breath, fingers splay open as fingers dig into the earth, like poised talons. Lips pressed together in a decisive defiance, speechless and still not out of the reminiscent blow that makes the time warp, he watches Gabi disappear into the night, through the dense woods. With a dramatic roll of his eyes, his head hangs down, scrutinizing the blow - it will leave a fat livid bruise, along the smack dab middle of the gnarled flesh, still radiant pink with sensitivity. Caught in a trap and imminently freed, he takes all the time in the world. The woods were his hunting ground and he would leave gashes by the trees tonight. Leaving his territorial mark upon her skin. Fingers rubbing the nape of his neck and smearing the faint droplet still clinging onto his skin, he licks the thumb clean, relishing the dull throb radiating like gentle kissing waves along the shore. Swaying as if he were about to faint, but not losing his footing, the alcohol surges even more swiftly as he fully stands up, steeping his fingers as he gives a stretch. Letting years of training - kickboxing and swimming - hone his senses as at least he knows this area by the cabin like the back of his hand, he assures himself. She’s gonna become his ultimate prey by hook or by crook by the stretch of night. Careful of not to making any noise as his barefoot avoids the fallen foliage, he picks up his pace as he whizzes through the expanse of colonnades, stretching out into the jagged rock-face of the gorge. 

___

Leaning out of breath against a pine tree, she gasps for air, her lungs burn like never before.  This is not the first or last time she’s run full board for sheer fun. Often she’d run through the subway, jumping gates, and sliding down ramps, she’s always considered herself an amateur parkour practitioner. The time she spends catching her breath is a moment wasted. The only difference between now and running and jumping like a mad person through the subway, is that this time she has someone hot on her heels that she provoked into the chase.  Like the great red fox, it’s in her essence. Always destined to be hunted by the otherworldly, wild hunt of legend.  In the Scandinavian myth it tells of the wild hunt being lead by the great Danish King, Odin, or even the Devil himself, maybe it’s a combination all three.

Not hearing any foot falls, and or the distinct sound of a twig snapping, or even the rustle of leaves. There is not breeze in the air, and so she makes up for the lack of one. Vaulting herself away from the small pine, she sprints through the thick woods. With her hands tied in front its easier to run, she keeps her arms close to her body clutching to her chest. There is no point stopping to try and undo the binding. It would only slow her down, and she’d prefer her hands free for this, but there was no point dwelling on it. She tries to keep the edge of the woods to her right so she can keep track of where she is, other wise, she’d surely get lost, and then she’d be fucking screwed. Its hard to concentrate on where she is going, and not let her mind race as face as she ran.  Baffled, and astonished at what she did, its certainly something she’d have never imagined her doing ever before. On one hand she felt bad for hurting him, but on the other she wanted this to bad. She would make it up to him some how later. Things were certainly different now, she felt like nothing could stop her, nothing that is, but Nigel.

Leaping over a fallen tree, she almost stumbles, but keeps on going. There is no way in hell that he is going to let her get away with all of this, but she is surprisingly ok with that. It had been well worth it. Having told him already that it scares her, of what she wants, and is willing to let him do to her. It’s all to clear now, that she meant every word, and is a glutton for punishment. She didn’t even venture a thought to the things he might do to her, but it made her pulse race even harder. There was a sick thrill of giddiness in her bubbling up from her throat deep inside. It wanted to roll from her lips in a wind chime of laughter. Like bells pealing their voices in the wind. Everything today, had been more than beyond her wildest dreams. She wasn’t sexually or romantically attracted to anyone unless she shares a connection with them of sorts. With Nigel, it had been the healing of his injury, and it had linked them together from that day forward.

Shaking with nervous energy, the kind that makes you want to run screaming into the light. When ever you hear a scary noise in the dark, or that rustle in your room that you’ve never heard before. It’s the thing that makes you extra jumpy, and paranoid after seeing a really good scary movie. And you can almost for a moment believe that the boogie man is real, and there is something lurking under your bed. All of that rolled into a mix with a heightened state of a arousal she has never experienced before. This wasn’t like the night they went to the opera wondering what sort of out come the night would have, sitting stewing in sexual frustration next to your love interest. No this was something much darker. She knew what the out come was going to be. There was no doubt in her mind, she’d be caught, and that would be it, the game would be over.

Bursting through the tree line, she broke for the road; she had doubled around in a sort of half circle to come back to the road where they had come in to from the cabin’s entrance. Doubled over, she heaved. Sweat started to trickle down her back, and soaked into her hair, making fly away strands darker than the rest. She had been running so fast, she had to put her bound arms out in front of herself, to smack into the rock face, on her left side. Her arms acted as a buffer to take the force of the blow. Rolling she put her back to the hard cold surface. And stood there shaking with adrenaline, anticipation, and excitement. It was almost like she could feel his rolling crackling energy, and knew that he wasn’t far behind. Eyes closed she let her heart drum in her chest, making loud thundering sounds in her head. The horses hoof beats down the race track, pushing themselves harder than ever before. Her legs are burning from exertion and she can tell she is starting to get a stitch in her side. If she stops now, she is forfeit. As much as she wanted to keep going to not stop running, she also had a deep desire to just throw herself at him, and beg from him to just fuck her, but in the end she pushed onward to hyped up to stop now. With a last bit of energy she raced for the cabin, dust from the dirt road kicking up behind her. 


	71. Chapter 71

The breezeless air seems to be modulated as the illuminating moonlight breaches through the small clearings, the ray of light slanting across the jagged hardness of the thick oak tree trunks, hazel pools become a pair of flashlight,  _ searching, observing, leaving no nooks and crannies left against his scanner. _ The ambiance turns into a form of a memento, a mellow memory he holds dear to his heart - spending time observing his father hunting as he eagerly followed. When he had grown old enough, then he watched the blood trickle down from the stag’s neck, the protruding orb reflecting his curious tilt. How both lifeless and full of vigor that had been. Perhaps the curiosity got hold of him in an inescapable shackle as the growing desire grew, the congeniality growing mainstream. The sensation is akin to be plucked into and immersing himself into each glazed layer of trompe-l'œil painting.  _ So surreal and unbelievably astonishing _ . As if licking a sore foot from the trap of the poacher, the lingering blood against the gleaming teeth, swirling his tongue to coat the tastebuds further. As the resonating throb intensifies with Gabi’s bite mark etched deep into the niche of his mind, he hears almost ominous and poignant hoot of owl parliament, groups of them singing blues. 

Having out-walked from the furthest city light to be a lone wolf at night and acquainted with the night, an immensely different atmosphere and dimension, he recalls innumerable instances where he had been more than tipsy in occasions like this, plunging in brooding sadness and affliction. Muffled sorrows of the club-goers detonated on the dance floor. Along with his myriads of exchanges of liquor and plastic seal bags. The pristine table coated with fine layers of sour-noted dust. The only source of release, presented in the most carnal and unrestrained form. Sinking low, into the unfathomable wells of immeasurable depth. Overdosing on epinephrine, the circulation completes in a nanosecond, the pressure so great that his heart soars to threaten to push into the back of his throat. In a haziness as his feet slowly begins to shuffle with a surging cramp, the liquor seems to slosh around and give the momentum he needs. The air growing more rippling as the gentle wind materializes into undulating waves. Maybe he was swaying, definitely more sloshed than he cares to admit. 

His mind reeling and processing faster than a laptop with a cutting-edge processor, the tenacity in him pushes his body forth. A slow stride turning into a jog, the last thing he wants to do is to extensively search for her. The woods were vast. The gorge will offer as the wall, higher than the Great Walls of China to hinder the moonlight and celestial bodies from effectively disappearing from the sight. Using the nature as his advantage along with the knowledge of the grounds, he literally bamboozles her to come back to the cabin. It will be the only option she has, with her naked top. The cadence of accumulated events pausing in front of him, he stealthily waits, hiding against the shadows, his black leather-like jeans giving him a helping hand to camouflage into the crackling leaves. He doesn’t even have to get his ass up for this nor waste valuable energy. He would strike her in a blink of an eye, when she doesn’t expect him at all. The heyday of you slipping out of my hands are over, darling. 

The contained fire, having reached its zenith as the crackling sounds die down to a gentle nibbling, the woodsy smoke trailing and enveloping the side of the cabin. Knowing it would be impossible for her to make towards the front door, he angles his body towards the side door where they had came out together, he attunes to become the nature. Of course, there are more supreme beings up in the food chain and he isn’t without weaknesses and vulnerabilities, but a predator is always, a predator. The innate nature doesn’t alter or diminish because he had been wounded and bruised. Welcoming every sensation that begins to assault his form, the licking beads of sweat cooling off his coppery tone, the gong ringing his head in a gentle pendulum swaying, eyes blazing as the filmy layer rouses with the whoosh of air. The fallen comrades of leaves giving him a guesstimate of a gauge. Chatoyant gaze focusing onto her form as the viewfinder of a sharpshooter hones to bring down its victim, he is completely in his demesne.  _ Attuned and cognizant _ . 

Scampering at his top speed, he turns into an eight-year-old child, conflating into the background, with the crawling weighty shade against his back. The damp locks whipping across the chiseled cheeks, cupping them as a wave of zealot-like urgency looms over him. Almost sinister curl of his lips tugged across his lower half of his face, he leaps like a tiger behind her, catching up with her as efflorescent provocation brims over to overflow. Arms swung forth as he hugs her from behind, lunging to bring both of them down against the blanket. He’s not unscathed as a scrape paints faint cuts along his forearms, he pins her down with his thighs. Fingers tugging the hair from the back of her head, each exhale turns into a puffing smoke of the volcano, about to guzzle hot magma. “This is exactly what happens if you ever fuck around in my territory and you know what happens you play a lose-and-lose game with me. You become mine, ravaged beyond the point of fucking return,  _ Gabi _ .”  His unusually long nails trace the letters, against the expanse of her arched back.  _ MINE _ . 

____

Starting to slow down, she can feel the exertion straining her muscles.  Crossing the front of the cabin at a jog now, she is not aware just how close Nigel really is. Her skin feels like it was on ice, the work out making her run hot and cold. The chill from the autumn night making it worse on her bare skin, the only comfort she had was keeping her bound arms close to her chest. Sweat damp hair plastered now to her forehead. A little more at ease now that she is near the cabin, she wasn’t frantic like how she had been in the woods. Rounding the side of the cabin close to where their fire was set up, she spares a quick glance around. Just as she turns her head to look behind her, there is a blur, and she is knocked to the ground.

Landing just on the edge of the blanket where they had started their little game, it came full circle. The wind was knocked out of her lungs, and she couldn’t breathe for a few staggering seconds. Even with her arms in front it didn’t do much to help with the sharp pain. She could already feel bruises beginning to form on her forearms, but it would be even more so now, with the impact of the fall. Nigel had tackled her from behind; he took her down to the ground like some lion would jump on a gazelle. There had been no time to react or try to even get away. For a space of a few heart beats she lays stunned on the blanket, he had climbed up higher to straddle her so that she couldn’t get away, and there was no way for her to move really with her arms tied and his full weight on top.

Laying panting and sucking air into her lungs so she can breathe, she turns her head to the side as far as it will allow. With her face in the blanket she felt like she’d suffocate, as least now, she didn’t have to worry about that. What she did have to worry about now was Nigel’s wrath, and what he had in store. Listening to his heavy breathing and the tone of his voice when he speaks, she gets a chill down her spine. It isn’t out of fear or because she is scared. Its from the thrill of the chase, and knowing that he is claiming his prize. There is just something so animalistic and sexy in the way he acts when he is like this. Turned on even more than before, she finally realizes she isn’t exactly frozen in place. She can still wiggle around, even if it’s futile, it still gives her a rush. Just another something more to feed her dark side, and make her want to fight back.  With the alcohol still in her system, the adrenaline slowly starts to seep away, leaving her feeling weak and slow.

With the first drag of nail across skin, it isn’t so bad, but doing it in the same spot, over and over, and it starts to sting. She has no idea what he is scratching on to her back, but she can tell that it’s large. Unable to help herself, she halfheartedly thrashes around. Always willing to fight until the end, but being so weak and exhausted there isn’t much fight left in her. Feeling snarky, and still slightly hostile, she tosses back at him in reply. “I was never playing to win, you play you pay.” She can’t help giving him attitude, as she still is in a animal fight mode. All that she has left is words, since she can’t fight back properly. Really there should be no more reason for her to provoke him farther, the damage has already been done, but she can’t seem to stop. Finally breathing normal again, she realizes that she is going about this the wrong way.

Letting out a sort of growl that she didn’t know she had in her, she writhes around underneath him one last time, before switching tactics. Arching her back, bringing her hips up off the ground as much as she is able, she starts slowly grinding her ass up against his hips. It is inhuman how much she wants him so bad right now. For as little noise as she made during his marking territory over her body, she can’t believe the inarticulate noises coming from her now. A frustrated shuddering moan squeezes past her lips, as she rocks her body backward into his, short little movements, that is all she can manage being pinned down as she is. Biting her lower lip, she shuts her eyes tight, and pushes back against him hard, just to feel the resistance. Gritting her teeth, she doesn’t want to beg, it isn’t something she likes, and it annoys her, but at this point, she doesn’t know how long she be able to keep her mouth shut. Always with Nigel she find herself doing things she never would, or wouldn’t do unless he was involved. 


	72. Chapter 72

The force of the lunge so great that he feels the afterimage of it traverse all over his body. Feeling more wrecked than ever, having participated in self-assertive and brazen bar fights and other physical involvements which hardened both his outer casing and mentality ceases to exist as sand castle about to be swept down against the beating waves. Everything results in how he had strategically thought over; like dynamite detonating, building roofs crumbling like carefully constructed domino effect, escalating as the force builds momentum. Damp hair clinging onto the back of his neck and dripping over the curve of his taut muscles, exerting as the cords become more visible under the impassioned and almost feverish skin. The bit of stress involved in to claim his prize makes the soft skin underneath his eyes to quiver. Two battleships, each obstinate on his or her own. The spontaneity and not knowing which direction their path will lead, the element of unknown makes their swirling energy to dance together as stars before reduced to stardust. Their silhouettes complimenting each other so well, filling cracks and crevices of his heart and soul. 

He is a kind of a person who would stand out in millions of faces. Well, with their appearances, half-naked and flushed red with the chase of the lifetime which will prominently change their relationship status and the animalistic urges that they succumb to, spreading like a fatal contagion as the incurable disease sweeps and wrecks all the viscera. The evidence is hard to ignore. With his cheekbones and hazel orbs, containing the smoldering fire as the only cacophonous cawing sound he registers is that of his heart, hammering against his chest in a great upheaval that it opens the cage up for anyone to mess him up. The sweet cloying scent akin to cherry blossom petals, scattered around like confetti in the form of ebbing adrenaline. Pools spreading wild with firestorm, the force of the calamity so great that the inescapable fire contains within himself, then rolls down the path of his gaze to smother her down. Those eyes and scars, as if they had the life of their own, starkly conspicuous against the solemn darkness. Having exercised his atrophied muscles as they ache with a gentle rippling throb, utilized to get his well-deserved prize as he savors the tension, coiling around his thighs and abdomen.  

The surging heat alone is enough to chisel a wide path of destructive intensity across her skin as he continues to mar her skin, as if he was carving it with the tip of the burning knife. Every trail of oxygen having squeezed out of his lungs, a jarring sneer formulates into pursed and thinned lips, fuming through his nostrils. Fingers clasped around her shoulder, his dominant hand continues the repeated movements, as if he had been carving a woodblock. He’s indiscreet enough to not care if the mark would physically hurt her - but he is tactful so that she wouldn’t instantly make out the letters. Like tattoo needles prickling through the epidermal layer, she would be oblivious until he finishes etching the word. “And as you so aptly summarize, a payback is a fucking bitch, on both occasions. I didn’t expect you to remain docile. After all, every job of our hearts hold an equal value. Ultimately, you gotta chase the fuck who makes my heart fucking explode to assuage it in order to be stimulated again.” 

Moving with fluidity, with a hand still possessively clasped around her shoulders and etching more half-crescents into her skin, he lights the cigarette as soon as his eager lips search for that pungency of the nicotine. With the lick of crisp cool air acting as an additive, the bitter surge calms the rising indignant expression scoring his face. With a thumb grazing over the bullet encased in the zippo lighter, he shoves it back inside the back pocket of his jeans and traces a finger along the letter M. Leaning in against Gabi’s behind, mirroring the deciduous weald closing them in like an arbor, the only sound he hears as his heavy breathing regains its steadiness, is the nails scratching through her now reddened skin, slightly raised as the continued motion makes more visible impressions, radiating heat as he appreciates the clear outlines. Fingers curled and tugging around the back of her hair, his stubble barely graze against the side of her face. “Still have that resistance in you, I see.” Teeth nipping against her earlobe, a hint of cruelty tugs his lips as a shroud of exhaled smoke blurs up his vision, her face dissipating behind the denseness. 

With wave of calmness washing over him with each deep drag, his movement grows more languorous, merely watching her with an unblinking, downward gaze. The wrath slowly subsiding into relatively gentle beating waves, the hint of foaminess is still there as his facial expression remains a bit distant, collected and cold even. He cannot push away the slight flush tinting his skin though. In pleasure, back arching as the whip of intoxicating, alluring arousal surges along each quickened breath. Masking it effectively behind his controlled exhales, the smoke trailing into a small whirl of air, turning more impelling. Through now skin-tight and moisture-filled jeans, his stiff erection pushes against the fabric, pressing on. Knowing well she wants it too as much as he does, but never giving in to the overwhelming carnal desire, he watches the last continuous trail of smoke puff through his nostrils before bringing the butt down against her back, between the letters I and N. Finally letting go of her shoulder, a hand trace along the androgynous curve of her side, trailing fingers, almost imperceptibly. Finding the waistband as the same hand curves around her front side, he watches the small growing flame taint the small dot against the sharp valley of the spine.

____

All too late she realized that Nigel would not be easily swayed, not this time. It didn’t matter how wanton or needy she was. The only thing that would satisfy him now, would be begging, the thing she hated so much. Lips pursed and letting out a sigh through her nose, she lay there unmoving for a few seconds, like a great war going on inside her body. Always split down the middle, one foot firmly planted on one side, and the other set down on the other. Dual sides fighting over what she wanted more, to give in and beg, or to fight back until she passed out. If it had been anyone other than Nigel, she would have fought back until the very end. Even if it had killed her, but for some odd reason, she just wanted to cave under Nigel’s ruling hand.

Gabi was the embodiment of the justice tarot card, scales held out in one hand, band around her eyes, clutching a sword, and stomping on a snake. Always about cause and effect, the equal balance of the scales, taking into account your actions, and judging accordingly. She believed in eye for an eye, and all that came with it. There was no one exempt from this law, not even herself. Oh she knew full well she deserved what was coming to her, she had after all brought it upon herself. As they say all’s fair in love and war. People in love and soldiers at wartime are not bound by the rules of fair play. Even if that were true, she couldn’t help wanting to be punished for acting out like she did. It was only fair that Nigel was the one who dispensed the justice with his own hand.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched him light his cigarette, and followed the curl of smoke as it dispersed through the air. Sometimes it felt like Nigel could indeed read her mind, and it was a little unnerving. As she lay there on the blanket bruised and very sore, she had a fairly good idea of what he had in store for her. Like a slow tick of the clock face, she waited and waited, growing more anxious.  As the smoke burned down to the filter, she flinched when his hand came down out of sight. Squeezing her eyes shut, and gritting her teeth even harder, she could feel her teeth grind. Her jaw ached so much, and it couldn’t compare to the searing pain that shot through her spine, it had to be right there. With no muscle along the spine, it hurt worse than it should have. It was a sensitive spot, and it made her jerk her body. Rocking her body back and forth as much as she could, she wanted it to stop, but she couldn’t bring herself to make a noise.  Her pain tolerance was only slightly above average, but what made her different was she had the will power of a stubborn mule.

It didn’t matter if it hurt so bad she wanted to scream, with the stubborn set of her jaw, she wouldn’t make a peep just out of spite. She wouldn’t and couldn’t let herself give in, but that side that whispered in her ear to just let go… called to out to her. What would it cost her to just give in and let him take charge, this she had no idea, but there was a price she would pay for sure. A small piece of her soul, broken away, stolen from her by Nigel, where he would always carry it with him forever, like a shard of glass lodged in his heart. Finding her second wind, she thrashed about hopelessly one last time, angry at herself. Like bungee jumping, she threw herself over the edge, and let Nigel act as the cord to keep her from hitting the ground.

Letting out a hoarse sound, her eyes snapped open, lips parted in a grunt of pain. Her whole body was flushed red, and a hissing like a balloon slowly loosing air, she let one word tumble from her lips. “Please.” Its barely audible, and comes out like a whisper of the wind in the trees. And just like that all the fight left her. She stopped struggling, fighting, and trying to not give in. All of her felt weak, and like she might collapse if she stood up, she went slack against his body, and she gave in. She just wanted to curl up in a ball, and wrap herself around him, and pull him across her body like a blanket and sleep for a thousand years. She knew with out a doubt now, that she would not be the same when she left this place. Nothing short of death could separate them, from this moment forward. When she feels his hands moving along her sides, and moving lower, she can feel the muscles low on her body contract with need, and arousal, and licking a dry lip, nothing stops her from crying out. “Oh fuck…” 


	73. Chapter 73

Smelling the skin burning through the most sensitive part where it would most definitely leave a faint scar, the smoke continues to curve along her body as it slowly emits from the pressed stub. The haloing ripple of her jerking movement undulates against his calloused tips, and they stay splayed open to firmly ground her. A silent order, more like a declaration of a remission from her part.  _ No more fucking games _ , as their body fuels with lust and the fuse burns with every nanosecond passing. Wanting to stretch the sensation for her to feel like eon, he wants to push her as much as he could. All the desires, that exquisite heat coating his skin, propelling the radiance and making him to be epitomized into acting upon the most carnal lovemaking between them. Sensing her body tense and coil with excruciatingly agonizing pain, he had been sure Gabi had more tolerance for pain than most girls that he had ever seen. Never the one to use his hands directly for giving any women pain, maybe this was something she wanted. Knowing she could offer resistance until they both exerted too much energy to pass out here and then, the marking of her skin, signifies their deepening relationship as they both were too deep in for each other. It’s to the finishing line once they have already taken off.  

Depending on perspective, others might see them as deviants, playing with growing debauchery, them feeding off their worse sides. Each of them materialized as a soldered linked chain, practically unbreakable as they love like fire, burning anyone who got too close. It would be destructive as well as an imperative part of his life. They were simply drunk, intoxicated with love, with their silent conversations, every lunging movements, the way his body pressed onto hers like he was doing it now. The stub quenches against her damp skin and his pressing one and he discards it, flinging it across the smoldered fire. A subtle  _ excitement  _ turning into an unquenchable  _ exhilaration _ , he doesn’t need more confirmation to register the fact that she, like himself, had been adamant and stubborn as a bull and that stubbornness would make him to dive in headfirst into whatever he desires and covets and would work his ass off until he completely owns it. That alone is utterly intoxicating in of itself. 

Attuned to her body’s sensation radiating like dissipating glow of the extinguished fire, Gabi’s lurching movement slowly subsides under the gentle ebbing of pain and the growing radiance of a skipping stone perturbing the tranquility of the motionless lake, the etched slivers of night, contained in those ripples as glimmering sparks epitomizes across the green specks in his hazel pools. A thumb traces the raised edge of her skin, where the burn mark creates a slightly hollowed half-sphere. With her beseeching remark, the one word absent from his own dictionary, it works like an irresistible and irreversible spell. A sly, lopsided grin, as guileful as a fox’s, plumps his cheeks as a rather menacing chuckle rattles his chest. The relinquishing of her resistance fueling the radiance of his heated tip of his fingers, They become talons once again, a single sweeping movement taking the last remnant of the hindrance off. Her leopard-patterned yellow skinny jeans. Once plastered on her legs like a snakeskin now rips apart against the raw force of his grasping fingers, the elasticity helps to part the fabric as they had been thinner than the regular slim-fitted jeans, just like the one he had been wearing. 

Once the fabric bunches around her ankles, he situates himself between her legs, a hand still adhered to her side as if he had been petting and soothing her like a kitten. A guttural growl unconsciously pushes through his throat, resonated from deep within. Time to unfold what he had conjured up in his mind. Taking her from behind. All the roller-coaster of fluctuating emotion finally taking the toll, as he knows well himself, he would not have the fight in him left. Although he wasn’t the one to give in easily either, both his vitality and endurance had been significantly reduced by his debilitating injury. It would take him months to get his form into its peak shape, once how lithe and effortlessly graceful he had been. Action speaks louder than words and he knows how hard it is to give in to the other; as if he was in Gabi’s position, it would be extremely difficult to let go of all of his inhibitions, abdicating his dominant position and power. Darko and himself ruled the nightlife of Bucharest and nothing feared him, except his personal inner demons continuing to haunt him in the form of recurrent nightmares.   

Once she is left, curled up under his anchoring hand by her side with only her panties on, he leans forth against her figure, feeling her hard nipple against his flesh. His erection straining to push upward through the tight denim, the urgency driving every minute movement to mean that much more. It’s like willingly stepping into the quagmire, which will turn into an inescapable sinkhole, deflating his lungs as each ribcage turns into sharp daggers, perforating every major organs, causing a destruction all throughout his body. Even before he dies of the ruptured lungs and exsanguination, there would be not a millimeter of space for his lungs to expand. Knowing complete trust has been placed upon him as his characteristic menacing gaze, gleaming with a dark glow, suddenly takes a turn and turns sympathetic. It’s so easy to switch his side like turning on the power button on the laptop - effortless and automatic. Two fingers pressed together, he spreads open her legs and situates himself behind her, her arched spine pressing against his thighs. Gently lifting her restrained arms over her head, a tantalizing swipe between her legs confirm the sleek wetness, not too different from his own as he painfully registers how aching it really is. 

____

A shiver of excitement runs down her spine, knowing that Nigel is as turn on as she is. No amount of convincing would have made her believe that giving in would be worth it. Now that she had though, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t sooner. This wasn’t the same thing as the first two times they made love or fucked. Those two times had been wholly other. The faces you showed to people that you weren’t sure how close you had planned to get. Guarding your most inner self, not letting the other person get to close. At this instant, it felt like doors were blown wide open. The air rushing through corridors and rattling the windows, and shaking the whole foundation in its wake. The storm of the century leaving no one untouched, it was made up of gale force and unstoppable flames, and it is a sweet dream that collided with a beautiful nightmare.

Becoming pliable in his hands had been much easier, than she had anticipated. Feeling like a wild animal, tamed under the right hand, and only relenting to the right person, that was it for her. Fate sealed in blood, deed signed over, no one could take Nigel’s place in her heart. Like a tattoo or a scar, his name was now forever etched on her skin, over her heart. When he forcefully removed her skinny jeans, her eyelashes fluttered, eyes lowered and giving him a sidelong look. She didn’t do anything to hinder his task, and she could feel herself getting more wet by the second. Every touch, every jostle around, anytime he laid hands on her, was another link forged in the chain, which drew them closer together.  It only fueled her desire for him, and she couldn’t tell right from wrong any longer. If Nigel was doing it to her, then it had to be right, that was now her only law.

Head thrown back against his chest, as he moves behind her, positioning as he needs, her being as malleable as another part of his own body.  With hands raised above her hand, it releases some of the pressure on her arms; her hands had gone almost numb, being under her body for a while in such a way. Deep down, she knew that the only reason she had gotten away from him at all, was because he was still healing, and she had used his weak spots against him. She made a silent promise to herself, never to do that to him again. Later, maybe tomorrow, she when wasn’t being one track minded, she’d tell him, but right now all she wanted was his body against hers.  It was unfathomable what he did to her, he drove her to distraction, and in some cases it could be very dangerous. It was a powerful force of nature, that brought them together, and every touch they shared, brought to life something magical.

Feeling his erection pressing through his own tight jeans has her wanting to twist around mindlessly, and touch him. Craning her eyes upward to stare at him between her bound hands, swallowing visibly and not even conscious of the words coming out of her mouth. “Oh my… I want you, right now…” Panting barely able to say anything more. “… only you.” She breathed out, and it was said with feeling behind it. He held sway over her, in a way that she always wanted to touch him. Every part of him, she couldn’t get enough, and any contact was good, but it was never enough. Always wanting more and she glowed under his touch like a nightlight in the dark. She wanted to run her hands tenderly over his body, and stroke every inch of skin, and lick, and bite her way down his figure. The fact that she couldn’t when she wanted to, only drove her crazier and it made her frantic with need.

When he spread her legs, and touched her at last, she was pushing back against his body, not at all gently. She was rubbing up against him like a cat, and rutting her hips and grinding herself aligned with his lower body, just to feel the firm press of his hard on. Tipping her hands back, still in their tight hold, she pulled his bangs with her finger tips, and brought him down for a much needed kiss. Lips locked together, she didn’t want to let go, even if it was a strange sort of upside down kiss, it was passionate, and hungry. Forgetting herself fully, she was begging him for more. Always more, never enough. “Nigel… please.”  She whispered it against his lips. Her eyes stayed shut, and she continued her kisses, between little pleadings, begging for more. 


	74. Chapter 74

Practically scenting the heavy arousal spreading onto every inch of her skin, he welcomes it as innately as a big cat welcoming the irresistible lure of an afternoon nap after having devoured a meal. The intoxicating mingle of their complimenting scents, his own heavy musk taking over his aura. Everything leading up to this point had been a game,  _ a game of strategic movements _ . Losing, gaining grounds, shifting his tactics again as he stays few moves advance. He doesn’t see this relinquishing of control as weakness. He falls in love with it, because there’s strength behind it. If he had been placed in the same position as she had been, he would’ve definitely done the same. First of all, he wouldn’t be so  _ vulnerable  _ and giving up all of his control and placing his absolute trust to anyone else and second, he still would put up every resistance until he caved in and not let a  _ sliver  _ of his guard down. More than the fear of unknown and how his body will perceive, he wasn’t a slave to care for how the others had taken him as. For many, he had been the one to be feared with. Darko and him ruled the nightlife, running the most influential and thriving club standing multistory tall. For more of his acquaintances and at least most of his associates, either revered and despised him. Never letting his barricaded walls down at the club, Gabi would be the only one to know him like the back of his hand - buttressed fort reducing down to reveal the meadow, full of lights and peculiarities.

Taking his time as he strives to find out everything about her, the sensitive spots, where he wishes to stimulate her to push her more. More fluids spilled, his hands enveloped in matchless heat, their bodies already materialized to turn to a bed of coals, the starting of firestorm that would cause a mayhem. What each other lacked, he could turn into fill in those cracks and vice versa. Never breaking apart and soldered to become the unbreakable link. “I am more than fucking well aware of that and I plan to stretch the duration of time until my body yields to burn for you.  _ In surrender _ .” He reveals in epiphany, words spilled without any filters. His slightly removed expression vanishes away as a new unhindered layer slips on like an easily removable mask, he doesn’t hide the arousal nor the appreciation of her revelation. The first and the last. His only perfectly compatible partner to take an adventure of a lifetime with.  

Her form had still been relatively tranquil lake, just like how the real  _ Lacul Roșu  _ itself was. Attaining and absorbing the moonlight, taking in all the celestial bodies and scattering onto the gentle rippling crescents. The depth immeasurable as it presents itself as a boundless pit presents with iridescent hue of the deceiving hue of the pitch-black. Even the shallow water could whirl and plunge any creature too dauntless to challenge the whirlpool underneath it. Sweeping, slapping, all-consuming. In truth, perhaps their positions had been already reversed. It would be too easy and effortless to cave in to her begging and request now, but in return, she had been the one who was clutching onto the reins, his muscles shifting and rippling like that of a stallion’s, driven forward with the only one resolution in mind. Giving all they’ve got until they had not an ounce of energy to spare. Withdrawn from the world, they had the perfect setting to do so and harmonize to create the most sonorous lullaby that would lure him to sleep.   

An extension to both fullness and emptiness, the fluctuating energy between them continues to carry on through their exchanged breathes and molded lips. Gliding past her tongue as he devours her whole, both with his penetrating eyes and his rocking body against hers, swiping and exploring. The unstoppable rutting movements has his breaths to hitch and purr, deep within from his core and in most raw and carnal form. Slithering and undulating his body like a coiled snake, fingers find her folded wetness, engorged and fully stimulated, the sensation escalating rapidly along with her pleading words. It’s unimaginable, magnificent and wonderful to map her expanse of skin, inside and out, underneath him to explore the uncharted territories and etching it forever onto his consciousness.

Gently turning her face sideways as he lays his front against her back, fingers continue to make a curving movement, over and under the drenched fabric, just short of breaching her entrance. Just when her legs flutter like swaying reeds, when she yells for his name, completely wanton and expose open, then he will free himself from the confines of the heavy denim, effectively containing his soaring arousal to be detonated beyond reprimand. Their love is like rain - sometimes gentle and caring, most often times, it’s hard to contain it behind the hydraulic dam. Torrential and eroding. The downpour filling the earth as frantic beating sounds drown all the other sensations. Looming darkness brooding and moody. Finally deciding to free himself, at least a layer closer to his nakedness, with his two fingers locked in a slowed movement, his back arches as he presses his front, the outline of his erection pushing against the pivot of her back, all the way down to the crevice of her ass. “Not until you cum for me, darling. I want you ravaged and wrecked.” 

____

With him pressing himself against her back, still in his jeans, the course material nudging against her entrance, rough and unrefined. It is foreign and unwelcome, but it’s very intoxicating, as she is fully aware of whom and what was doing it to her. Between him touching her between her legs, teasing the folds of her lower body, and the firm grinding it is almost too much to handle. With them it is and has been and shall always be, all or nothing. There is no reason it should be any different with her caving in, and yielding to his command. In theory, she should give herself freely, and all the way, or not at all, but the not at all’ part was to great a loss to ever consider. Hell would freeze over before she’d lose him or to let him go. So with that revelation, she had no choice but to yield, and she did so willingly and with pleasure.

And so she did, giving up control was almost a relief after such a struggle. Like a ship being tossed about on the waves of the ocean during a bad storm, and finally after much battering and harrowing a great effort the storm breaks and the ship is left with the cloudless sky, and smooth sailing, the waters becoming calm, and the rain ceasing its down pour. Kisses slow down, as his relentless pursuit of her orgasm has her driven to distraction. Soon she forgets about kissing him all together, trying to hold herself together. Everything falls away, everything but him and her. The steady stroke of his fingers, and her writhing against him, body twisting and contorting in his arms. The only thing keeping her in place is the firm hold her has on her body. The only other sense that breaks though their one track mind meld, is the smell of sex, it’s unmistakable. That smell you never forget, and it clings to the skin for hours.

The scent of her fluids, will linger on his fingers well into the daytime, and it would be a reminder of their carnal desires, wild romp. She can feel the usual pressure start to build between her legs; involuntarily she moves her hips in just a way so that his fingertips caress all the right spots. It just how you would guide the disk on a Ouija board and unknown force seeking out the right letter. Her body acting as the disk, as is slides against his body. Positioned the way she is, she feels like the cello she loves so dear, being played t perfect pitch, by the only cellist she wants touching her body. Quivering beneath his hand, and pressing herself more firmly against his body each time she rotates her hips in a shallow circle. Her heart pounding like a sledgehammer, and blood pulsing in her veins, she can feel the edge drawing ever closer.

Like waves breaking upon a rocky shore, and slowly sliding back into the sea, her hold body locks in place as she gets pitched over the edge. Toes curling and hands scrabbling for a hold on anything, trying to get a purchase. Her body thrashes and bucks against his front, his chest plastered to her back. Open mouthed and panting, moans escape her throat, in a husky tone that sounds alien to her. She turns to a gelatinous state in his arms. A fine sheen of sweat now glittering across her sides in the moonlight, chest heaving, and trying to gather her wits about her. With her orgasm any aches and bruises she had fall away like a pain killer being injected into her veins. She can feel the unmistakable wetness between her legs, coating her thighs, and she finds she is unable to say anything at first, her voice hoarse. 

Finding her voice at last, throat dry an scratchy, she turns as much as she is able in his arms, and her eyes narrow, back to her normal self, a slow blink, and a glint of hunger in her eyes. “Cut me loose.” Motioning to her hands, she looks from her bound arms, and back at him. “I promise I won’t do anything… bad.” Pressing her face to his chest, nosing at the fuzzy hair there, and rubbing her face against it, she can feel his erection, hard and pressing into her ass crack. Feeling like being the tease that she is, she slides her ass across his length and giving him a pleading look. Barely able to keep the grin off her face, it had only been a few heart beats since she came, and already, she was waiting for him to take her at last. Still wet, and ready to go, she begs him with her eyes. Putting her weight, just over his pelvis, so that she was forced to sit on his rock hard erection; she pushed against him to lean in for a playful nipping kiss. Hands held up to grasp his jaw in her grip. Biting lightly across his jaw she couldn’t help, but to utter a few wanton words. “Fuck me.” All while nosing at his ear, to lick his earlobe. 


	75. Chapter 75

Painting his unique and defining brushstrokes over her body as sleekness thoroughly begins to coat in growing multitudes, his anchoring body seems to sway frantically under the gale. The aggravatingly beating waves swirling to whiplash against the jagged rock formations, eroding sensation fueling the growing arousal. The leash around his neck loosening by passing second, their plastered bodies sway like a helpless set of boats. Withdrawn from all the worldly goods and civilization, existent outside the cocooning nature, breathless as his abdomen continues to expand and contract, the repeated movements alone becomes an unstoppable and ever-increasing piston of the engine within himself. Each increments, going in and out of her velvety folds and tantalizingly close against her sex. he secures her writhing body with an arm, coiled around her middle as his own body gets a copious amount of sweat, forming a film around the expanse of his back and front. The heat from his hand burning through her skin, the absence of gnawing flame forgotten. 

His back muscles rolling as an anchoring arm both presses onto her and even tighter against his form, he begins fondling her breasts. Already feeling those hard nipples against the web of his fingers. Her unrestrained, unscrupulous sounds feeding the guttural surge of growl pushing through the back of his throat. Growing more greedy, the limitless exchanges of burning candle at both ends. Eyes half-closed and muscles turning into melted wax, malleable and still too heated to fuel the radiance burning within his lower abdomen. He preservers through, just until the exquisite heat from a jet of fluids continue to coat his fingers and hand. Turning into an elixir, a fountain of most potent drug he could get his hands on without jeopardizing his health, he suddenly turns into a zealous berserk. Nothing can stop the ongoing accumulation of arousal, waiting to be exploited. 

The heat from their body is so intense that he is sure that he had lost his conscious for a while, or at least locked in his own reverie. All he can focus onto is another body practically adhered to his own, not without an inch to give. Like pre-molded frame, moving in innate rhythm. The little fabric he holds against her ripped apart and discarded along with his shirt, the excessive sweetness almost nauseates his senses, drowning in their perfume. Both the damp denim and his boxers pooled around his knees, he peels them off with a grunt as the clinging dirt against his feet hinders the fabric from smoothly coming off. With her request sounding more like a gentle command, he raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “Sure.” The word drawl in remission as his shoulders scrunch, eyelids shut tight and pinched as a trail of sweat and drenched locks slap against his deep-set eye ridge. 

As Gabi presses her nose against his chest fluff, his own nuzzles against her fiery brunette, neck arching in pleasure as his stiffen erection twitches and smears precum all over his groin. Already having dipped his hands in the most insatiable and delightful heat, the severity increases without ever stopping, along with her tantalizing slither. A sly fox shaking her tail. Fighting the urge to succumb to the spawning intensity of electrifying currents surging through each vertebrae, he watches the belt free uncoil from her wrists, a thumb offering a soothing gesture as it traces over the reddened flesh. The impression not deep enough to cause bruises, but it would be uncomfortable for some time. Latching his lips close for another kiss, fingers explore her wet skin. The heat still radiates from her glowing flesh as he mischievously pinching her soft inner thighs. The luster of her skin is still visible under the effulgence of the moon. 

With a slight twitch of his neck as her tongue stimulates one of his most sensitive spot, he gauges and snakes her leg against the back of his ass, against the narrow valley where his glutes start. Already having prepared her and still exquisitely wet, the tempting heat invites his thick rod right into her tight sex. Her wetness reducing the resistance of her muscles to be nonexistent, his charged lunge, encased around the profound scorched heat, turns into a growing delirium. With her lissome body curled around his side, his rapacious gaze locks against her profile, gulping down sharp intakes of air as his heart pushes against the front of the ribcage, The flowing fluids helping his length to reach the sweet spot, the slow stretch of the velvety sleeve pulls to reveal the tumescent head, more impassioned piston of his hips and thighs driving the frenetic momentum, their bodies saturating more with paroxysm. 

____

The second her hands are free, she quickly gives her wrists a faint rub, feeling the sore spots, then with a glance upward, she goes still as if she is just now noticing that he is there. Wrists forgotten she then descends on Nigel, like a fox in a hen house. Greedy, and unsure where to go first, too alight with excitement, too many choices and not enough time.  Automatically her hands dive for his chest, and she is running her hands all over him. Urgent and needy, and sweat making him slippery and so much hotter. It feels as if she is on fire, and the chill air, doesn’t even bother her. Still not down from her high from her orgasm, her breath comes out stuttered and harsh, pulling at him to bring him closer, and no matter how hard, and tightly they wind together, it is never enough. If she could, she would melt into in skin, and become part of him.

Gingerly, she touches a hand to his side just where she kneed him, and trails fingertips just above the surface of the skin, but not touching. At the same time her lips, are hovering over his, and searching his face. If she was in her right mind, she’d say something, anything, sorry didn’t seem to cut, so she said nothing at all. Instead she moved her hand up and way, snake around his back, pressing them still closer together, while she adhered her lips to his. Her hands pressed lightly into the muscle just under his jaw, and kept her hands there not squeezing not doing anything but holding on to him. Tasting his lips, and parting his with her tongue, and letting their kiss deepen. Everything she ever felt every feeling she had towards Nigel, now poured itself out of her to seep into his skin. Like moisture soaking into fabric.

When he moves her about, and starts man handling her again as he needs, their bodies still sticking together like glue. He doesn’t even hesitate to push his way inside her entrance, nothing in the way any longer, and nothing to stop the slick slide of skin against skin. Her legs are molded to him, and she holds still letting him work himself inside, getting his shaft lubed up instantly, and there is no resistance on her part, not from her body or mind. Hands clutching weakly at his damp straight locks, pulling and drawing him ever closer, even if there is no possible way for them to get any closer and they already are. There is no thought behind it, just pure need and magnetism. An invisible force trying to weld their bodies together, with a searing heat which runs down the length of their figures, the thin line where they touch, and never hope to be separated from.

Working her hips, in slow circles, she rocks, and rides herself against him, needing to take him deeper inside. Mumbling harshly into the air around their little bubble of, just the two of them. “Harder.” Urging him to be more rough, and fuck her harder. Missing that firm press of her bound wrists, and grabs his hand, and forces him to grip her wrist tight pulling it in close against her body. Pulling in away, with a jerk, she tests his grip for any slack. She wants none, and won’t let him loosen his tight hold on her wrist. Her nipples are hard and sensitive in the chill air, and anytime his skin brushes against them, she shivers a little bit, each time more than the last.

Biting her own lip hard, as the pain killing endorphins slip away from her orgasm, she can start to notice the pain from where he put the cigarette out on her back. Its and irritating sort of hurt, that is more annoying than painful, and probably will hurt worse tomorrow when she isn’t in the throws of passion. Digging her nails into his thighs she moves her body slightly out of sync with his so that there is more friction when their bodies come slapping together. Bringing her hips down against him when he thrusts upward. Reaching down, she feels where his shaft meets her sex, and touches fingertips to the base of him, feeling his length glide in and out. She could just picture what the two of them looked like in a mirror right now. The thought is enough to send her insides to contracting, and she is using her pc muscles to push outward to almost force him out of her body, while he simultaneously works to push inside. The effect it to grip him even tighter, around his erection. 


	76. Chapter 76

The heat emitting him from the flesh so hot, he could pretty much visibly see the aura radiate off of him against the crisp cold air of the autumn night. As he was absorbing all the heatwave from the earth and detonating it like a dynamite. With her orgasm, still high as he feels her ardent percussion against his own, his ribcage the only thing acting as a garrison to amplify the repercussion carried through his own muscle. Like the opposite ends of the magnet, never inseparable as the magnetic charge becomes stronger with each thrust. Their smacking flesh, the tight coil squeezing his length in right places, driving his erection deeper into the lubricated inches of her muscles. Thick lashes fluttering, drunk on their cologne, simultaneous jerks, hitched expansion and contraction of their lungs, deflating and crystallizing against the coldness. The chest hair making the breeding ground for beads of sweat to cling and linger, with the rake of her fingers, the warmth dissipates into the refreshing chilliness, an imperceptible tremor carried upon the whole length of his torso.  

Even when she is not touching over the bruised flesh, the pain numbed to a gentle dull throb, mostly ephemeral with his prurient and alluring thrill. Almost savage as the rousing spark continues to traverse along his arched spine. Lips ajar and his face slack with any other emotion devoid, except sublime bliss. His hazel pools containing her own gray-blue, each stretch of her glimmering skin and dark, smeared eyeliner, deep-set against hers. His hand moving away from her wrists and splaying and pressing over between her collarbones, he could feel her equally jumping breaths, leapfrogging and hitching as all of his veins work overload, Overwhelmed and transfixed into place, the gentle ripple of the back grows into a succession of angrily beating waves, curving and thrashing, consuming and each gyrating motion forging for his hips to move in a heart-pounding ram. Knock my fucking breaths out, darling. 

Different from the previous kisses, all raw, animalistic, teeth and bruises, his swollen and voluptuous lips explore her in whole. Like tasting the most luscious chocolate. Coating the layer of cocoa onto the taste-buds. Time halts and shifts, on multiple occasions as the rapid fire pushes through the narrow column, the dynamism and puissance concentrating. With his fingers grasping tight around her wrists like tiger’s talons, knuckles turn white as he applies more pressure, another arm moves her legs again, lifting it to curve around his middle, just below where his gnarled flesh ends. His broad hand spread out to hold her wrists like cuffs, the other drives forward to pin her down, giving a gentle squeeze first to feel the thick artery and carotid pulsate beneath his fingertips. “Ready to cum one more fucking time? Imagine you surrendering every ounce of control as you almost lose consciousness underneath my hand.” He’s urging her liberation, through her valiant effort, she is going to show him more than giving up the complete trust. It’s as becoming one, more than anything else. The melding of a soul, crossing the dangerous territory to place themselves in thrum. 

With a sidelong gaze, he could still make out the letters he had temporarily etched across her alabaster skin. Although the mark would fade over time and it would be as if he had ever done the deed, but the memory of it would be forever slapped on the page of the book. Hips charge as the propulsion sends his pelvis to pound against her flesh, his slackened lips turn upward with a wicked grin. The recoil from her off-setting rhythm sending his length to surge more with blood, his testicles hang weighty, slapping against her ass as the propelled column of air, generated deep from his throat sends his breath to hitch. Like taking a voyage out in the space, even with the imminent danger and the unexpected calamities weighting by the corner with a little bit of a wrong turn, the sheer thrill itself is monstrously blood-tingling. 

Spine curling to meet the turbulent movements and her demand to be roughly fucked, with her touch along the base of his erection, he cannot help but to convulse. A slight undulation carried upon from the core, traversing downward to ignite the unmistakable spasm, the familiar heaviness looming to be released. With each firm squeeze as his penetrative orbs gaze onto her own, watching her reaction as his own orgasm nears. His lung squeezed out of the precious air as the inundated efflux feeds him to pick up his pace, movements growing zealously fanatic. Biceps tensed, his drenched locks dripping with droplets of sweat onto her skin, he clenches his teeth. Both grunts and groans contained within his lips as he finally lets it go, his adam’s apple sinking low as he blurts out along with heaving breaths. Winded and bleary as hot white spurts out from the slit, filling her up with his own share of excessive heat.   

___

Being pinned down is just the first of the effects on her like a pebble sending ripples across the surface of a pond. The force of his thrusts sending little shocks through her whole stature. Clinging to him roughly, she digs in her nails, like claws trying to find the right hold, dragging across skin. A strange sort of sensation comes over her that she can’t explain nor put into words. It wasn’t like anything she ever felt before. Not even in her very extensive exploration of her own body. Angled just a certain way Nigel was able to rub up against certain parts inside that were extremely sensitive and it felt so good she didn’t want it to stop. Not sure what to make of this new discovery, she kept moving her body in just a way to guarantee that he stay hitting that one spot. With narrow eyed determination she kept at it, and filed her findings away for later investigation. With the way things were going with Nigel and her, she was positive that she’d have plenty of time to revisit this new finding at a much more convenient date.

With the new sensations and the intense heat of the moment, fingers still fondling the little bit of his length she can in a slick sort of tease, she can tell he is close. That understanding just ramped up her own arousal yet again, making her lusty and more hot than normal. Both of their movements had become more frantic and urgent speeding them along together. Moving her fingers from the base of his erection, she touches her middle finger to her clit. Wanting to touch herself and knowing that it wasn’t going to take much at all to pitch her into the abyss. There isn’t any one thing she can concentrate on, with so many different pleasure centers being overloaded at the same time. The sound of their skin slapping together alone is enough to have her go weak in the knees. She was fairly certain she’d never grow tired of that noise or the odd feel of his balls slapping her ass. There was something peculiarly satisfying about it, and it pleased her very much.

Only acutely is she aware of him watching her, sweat dripping on to her from his head poised over her just so. With having let go on all her inhibitions she has no mind for her surroundings and barely is able to even focus on anything other than his movements and her own growing closeness to another orgasm.  She is very one track minded and this lets her put all her energy into that one specific task. Everything else becomes secondary, and she’d probably forget to breathe if her body hadn’t forced her to do so all on its own. There is a deep seated desire in her to see if she can cum again near to or at the same time as he does, and it’s the driving force behind her actions. Body going into overdrive and expending every last bit of vigor she had left.

Drawing ever near to the edge she could almost bet if she let herself, she could reach release before him, but she waited, wanting him to hit the wall first. Jerking against him, with hips moving in a steady rhythm, she clamps down on his erection using her pc muscles like she would squeeze a stress ball in a closed fist. Its all down to this single moment suspended in time, and when she feels him tense up, with that tell tale sign, of being right at the edge. She can feel him letting go, with his groans and that spine tingling rush, and all it takes is just a tiny stroke of her thumb across the swollen nub between her legs. Panting like she can’t get enough air, the force of a second climax has her pitched forward nearly bent in two. Eyes wide and looking shocked, shuddering with pleasure still stuck to his body; she nearly collapses on the blanket with him still griping her wrists like a vice.

Letting out a half hysterical laugh, she has no idea what is so funny but sarcastically she tells him. “I could use a drink now.” Every part of her body hurts, and if it’s not bruised or sore, it’s some sort of dull ache. She is sweaty, and has the worst case of cotton mouth ever. At this point she felt like she would be willing to drink from the lake as long as it was wet, it would work. Her bones even felt creaky, and over worked, from her crazy ass run through the woods, to their wild romp just now. Taking deep even breaths she lets her heart beat slow down to a normal pace. A fixed throb of her pulse between her legs won’t let her forget what they just did. No longer warmed by the heat they generated, she became aware finally of everything else in little increments. Though it wasn’t really that chilly, it felt much more so to her now after running so hot for so long. The sweat clinging to her made her shiver. Curling her body up against Nigel she siphoned warmth off of him and mumbled. “I’m cold.” against his hairy chest. 


	77. Chapter 77

The sensation is akin to revisiting and rereading a book that he had been saving for ever. A year later or years later, the idea of time doesn’t really matter. The words and the pages will be the same and as he explores Gabi’s body over and over again and vice versa, the carnality; the fluttering muscles, ardent pleasure licking over the expanse of his skin and every bone, turning malleable with exquisite heat spawned over. Their perception would be the only thing it would change. The characters seen would be so drastically different as his mind set will be different a year prior, or ten years past forward. The lovemaking or fucking, whatever he would like to call it, would signify more than the animalistic clash of unrestrained rawness, unfolded across the threshold of wherever they decide to go at it. He would not remain himself to be an open book. _ What would be fun in that if he had unfolded himself out in the open all at once? _ Knowing that she holds the drastically different duality - the healing angel she once had been and will probably take on that angelic personality upon himself, along with the air of menace viperous vixen. 

The tantalizing touch sending his flushed length to turn into a root, fastened deep into the soil. With her finger’s guidance, he continues to easily strike the special spot, the last series of intense release extricating him from the tight clutch with the heat of his stature. When all of his heat concentrates towards his lower abdomen as more series of surges stall his piston, becoming a slave to the urgency and desperation of the act itself, Gabi’s second arousal, concurrent with his own exquisite one sends undulating shudder all over his back. The expanse of his coppery tan acting as a barrier against the increasingly chilly air, her second splatter of incinerating heat between his inner thighs acts as a fuel. Burying himself deeper into the tight clenching muscles, the friction dramatically increases, as it the thin but suctioned coil linking them together meant to be. Of course, she was stunningly beautiful underneath him. Knowing that she could easily turn into an unpredictable storm -  _ the lightning streaking across the sky as she lets the world know her striking presence _ \- the sight itself becomes a beauty in itself, but it is probably just as dangerous and feral as it deceptively looks it to be. 

His heart pushed to work overdrive, cords stand and becomes even more visible against his neck and forehead, the flushed cheeks growing pallid with the alcohol’s effect kicking in more dramatically so. His body reeking with their heavy musk, mingling together as his frenetic movement finally halts with the last dense ribbon of seared hotness, he lays splayed, completely debauched and knocked out. His half-shut eyes looking up the sky above him, he could still taste her inside his mouths, lingering against the inside of his lips. A bit of blood from his neck, shared  _ tuica _ , the bitter hoppy lager from earlier. With the fire in his smoldering gaze, every sensation amplifies through their shared orgasm, knowing how she had waited until his release became imminent and how easy it was to make her reach the simultaneity and paralleled intensity. Having not registered the tight clasp around her wrists, enough to have her hands spasm with lessened blood flow. 

Finally letting go of the death grip, the effortlessly alluring high from both their carnal act and from drinking earlier sends him to see the midnight sun. It’s as if he’s seeing things that don’t exist in this part of the world at this fixed time. The moon’s radiance and intensity becomes dramatically amplified. “I have more drinks down in the cellar.” He remarks breathlessly, already feeling wasted enough to feel his senses go benumbed, thoughts blurred and the view fogged up. As if his hammering heartbeat was lifting his weight off his chest and having succumbed to his inner demons beforehand being completely defeated. Wet locks plastered and whipped carelessly all over his forehead and cheeks, his head tilts to gaze downward at her direction, her pale body gleaming like a pearl under what it seems more exaggerated moonlight, slanting across her form. 

Having burned all of the fuel contained inside his core, his form epitomizes into that of the fire inside the fire-pit; barely crackling, almost sweltered already with the bed of ash containing the little coaled fire inside. The only evidence being almost inaudible crepitation that hints subtle sparkle, still undying, begging to be resuscitated. Turning his body and letting his rushed palpitation down to his usual steadiness, his fingers unconsciously brush against the reddened mark, which had bloomed even rosier with the fleeting heat. “Let’s go inside, you can start on that fucking fire and we can settle in front of the fireplace. I’ll get some more booze.” Fingers trailing the side of her face, he pushes off locks plastered across her forehead and watches his chest rise and fall against her weight, still permeated with their intense, heavy musk which seems to mimic the rolling swell of the sea. Lifting them off from the tempting quagmire of the warmth of the blanket, he gathers his leather jacket and her backpack, with her still wrapped around him like a koala to an eucalyptus tree. 

____

Sleepy and content to just huddle in his arms, to exhausted to give much of a reply. She nods her head dumbly, and agrees about the word fire. With no rush of adrenaline, nor the high of being turned on, she can feel just how wobbly and far gone she is, still tipsy, aching head slightly numb, and beyond tired. Reminding herself over and over in her head, that all she has to do is bring the fire inside and she can rest, or die… both sounded tempting at that moment. What ever, as long as Nigel was with her, she didn’t care what happened to her, she could be mauled by a damn bear, or run over by a car… It hardly made a difference to her. The feel of him brushing damp fly away hair from her face, sends a shiver up her spine. His touches always had some effect on her, and it was a little embarrassing. When Nigel stood up, and pulled her with, she grudgingly pried herself off of his body, so she could cram her feet in her shoes.

She liked to be man handled roughly, but she didn’t like to be coddled like some fragile flower, and she felt better if she walked on her own, she didn’t really feel all that comfortable with the idea of being carried by Nigel either, she’d have to revisit that thought at a later date. Stifling a yawn, and picked up her discarded crop-top shirt and wrapped it around her waist like a loin cloth, and tied off to the side. “I’ll get the blanket.” Playfully shooing him off the blanket she folded it up, and carried it with her camera into the cabin, following on Nigel’s heels. Bumping into him in the dark, she hadn’t been paying much attention to where she had been going and was sleepy enough to no look where she was going either. “Sorry…” she mumbled, and moved to dump the blanket in front of the fireplace.

Looking around, she saw there were fire utensils next to the fireplace, and that gave her a genius idea. Picking up the thin metal long handled shovel, she went back outside. Starting a new fire inside would be a fucking hell of a lot easier, if she just gathered up the remaining hot coals, and little flickering flame that was still burning in the fire pit. Moving to do so, she carefully and slowly scooped up what was left of their camp fire, and gingerly carried it back inside in the shovel. Once back inside, she set the shovel and all down, not wanting to deposit it just yet with out some fuel for the flame. So she hurried back out the back door to collect a few small pieces of firewood, and took them back inside and dumped them in the stone fireplace. Neatly stacking them in the perfect pile for another fire, and scooting the shovel with the little flickering fire underneath it all. Anxiously she waited crouched down in front the fireplace, watching the fledgling blaze slowly catch, and start to eat the new firewood.

Satisfied with how the fire was crackling and starting to get stronger, she dumped the charcoals and tiny flame out into the fireplace to join the rest, and put the shove back. Clapping her hands together to get the dirt off, she turned to spread the blanket out folded over once to lay it in front of the fireplace for them to lounge upon. Looking for her backpack, she saw it resting on the floor, and so she brought that too closer to the fireplace for easier reach, her camera resting on top. Lastly she went back outside, and found the near empty bottle of  _ tuica _ , and picked up anything else she felt shouldn’t be left outside. Bringing it all into the cabin and promptly dumped it willy nilly where ever. It didn’t need to be fancy, and she could always straighten everything out tomorrow.

With nothing else stopping her from settling down, she joined Nigel by the fireplace. He had been as good as his word, and had produced another bottle of  _ tuica _ . This one was still unopened, and she got the almost empty bottle, and clinked it against the one he held with a cheeky grin. “Cheers love.” Laughing and shaking her head, she threw herself down on the blanket, and yanked off her boots, only to toss them behind her away, and not near their little nest. She removed the shirt tied about her waist also. By now the fire had grown hot, and was coming along nicely, one of them would have to put large pieces of firewood on the flames later… but right now she didn’t care. And so she took a drink, and when Nigel settled down next to her, she coiled herself around him like a snake trying to constrict its prey. Her chest pressed tight to his back, and she laid her head against him. Sharing warmth back and forth between their bare skin. That was just how, she would have fell asleep too, if she had been allowed to do so, it was to comfortable. And Nigel was way too warm, and she couldn’t resist, pressing kisses into his back.


	78. Chapter 78

With an arm coiled around her like a constricting boa slithering upward towards bough of the thickest trunk of the tree, fingers become tiger’s claws marking his own territory. Still well aware of the words he had etched on her porcelain skin, perhaps she will be aware enough later to make out the words.  _ One way or another. _ He cannot help but to trace his fingers against the impression, as if magnetized. Like how Big Dipper always tells the north no matter what the names differed across people, it could be a hook, a ladle or a big bear with three trailing birds, all the same without the etched word to prove his point. It could’ve been another word he could have used. The particular one he had decided upon told the story well enough and how his mind gravitated towards.  _ Mine _ . The most priceless and treasured possession he could ever have. Fighting the oncoming surge of slothfulness and pushing himself off the comfortable lassitude, the fluttering ripple radiates as the view blurs into a pleasant fogginess. Dancing of the colors, the deep hues of the night leaping between the negative spaces of the compacted trees and lush shrubs of the woods. The scents of the oils from the tree and their own musk never becomes something of a debauchery. Not a cloth covering them and his naked soul revealed out in the open, like Adam and Eve, secluded in nature in their most unbidden and raw form. He could get used to this if he had her flesh pressed against his the whole time. 

Not even bothering with his shoes, he sweeps up all of his clothes, strewn around like snakeskin all around the oak tree trunk and near the fire pit. He could even see a bit of his burnt shirt, turned even less than a rag under their feral and animalistic stimulation before an equally intense round of lovemaking. Since he had only bought one pair of jeans, he’d just brush off all the soil and wear them again. With his half-hard erection still visible with the slight bulge, he saunters with typical swagger, hips swaying and exuding confidence. Their amalgamation of fluids clinging between his legs like a diaphanous layer of dense film, it’s not like he wants nor has enough energy to wash it off, so he wears it like the most prized posession. Rolling his shoulders as the adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream diminishes and the alcohol in return, amplifies to let his thoughts escape through and keep him slightly alert, he pushes himself into the cabin. Once a Pandora’s Box of haunting memories, instantly becomes to rewrite a better memory. The memory which will make him grin no matter what.  

Perhaps this is what he had needed - flocks of birds are courageous on their own enough to take that leap of migrating millions of miles without knowing what the prospect future will hold for them. Behind the fortified walls, he had been living off in combinations of incomparable confidence and an aura of menacing violence, blown to epic proportions. Behind seemingly indestructible facade, there had been a layer of sensitivity that no one ever dared to explore before. Being together with someone who had flayed him open without much effort had been a miracle in itself. A carer and a healer. More than just sleeping together and having her flesh next to his.  _ How can this be the same as flying?  _ Having sex numbs all the unnecessary senses, it’s easy to take a plunge, headfirst into her body. _ The exploration, articulation, creating their unique rhythms and through every mutuality of breaths and connection. _ Then there would be more drinking - opening up another bottle of Romanian spirit, as the taste still lingers in his throat and the smoldering heat still contained within him, radiating its energy. No matter how thick his blood saturates with alcohol, there’s always an urge for more. Until his body cannot take anymore. What it seems to feel like the fleeting sensation turns into a liberation. Letting go of all of his demons and letting them become mingled beyond comprehension and separation.  _ Making him whole.   _

His boots hurled across the floor and putting his own clothes and her backpack by the couch near the fireplace, he slouches down and feels Gabi bumping into him by the hipbones. Slightly thrown off and chin digging into the sternum, his damp hair flings and he feels his heartbeat palpitate like thunder - so strong and sure, as he swallows decisively. Unfolding himself, instead of commenting on her apology, he lets his spinning world stop for a while, the temporary escape through still coursing adrenaline, swiftly fading now and the sway of the pendulum grows more with heavy undulation. An easy grin stretching into Cheshire, he nudges an elbow against her side and runs a hand over the dimple of her back. He could still feel and visualize the heat still burning into her skin. Letting his finger reluctantly trail over the crevice of her ass, he watches Gabi starting about the fire in the fireplace before a phantasm of a grin etch against his lower face. Disappearing downstairs and fetching a bottle in a blink of an eye, the tuica came as a rarity of the possession, as it had been only available during late fall and beginning of the winter, for short two months before wine-making was complete. Already registering how bone-weary they had been with the long ride, losing time and going through all and everything with his emotion, he had been both emotionally and physically depleted. 

Situating himself near the fireplace and watching the flames aglow to turn into dancing swirl, marching across the atmosphere to turn the darkness into a spreading radiance, each crackle becomes the gentle kiss over the hardwood, matching the natural ringed patterns. Once again, the flame scatters all over his sun-kissed skin, the warm chromatic creating an sublime abstract color field painting over the expanse of his back. Unscrewing the unopened bottle and tipping it towards Gabi’s, he returns a faint smirk spreading his lower face and stretches to rest his legs over the expanse of the blanket. “Cheers, darlin.’” His characteristically low and husky voice dragged out with slight nasalization, he takes a pull at his liquor, letting the first small guzzle quench his cotton mouth. The rim of the bottle still pressed against his plump lips, he doesn’t press down the purr rattling his chest, a hand overlapping her arm as he sways a little with her pressed weight. With a reverberation from his throat becoming deeper and more guttural, he leans his head against her shoulder, brushing the stubble against her jaw before she moves downward to kiss his back. “My first impression didn’t fucking strike you as a clinging cuddler, but I may have been bloody damn fucking wrong. Not that I am complaining..” The onslaught of trinity; the warmth of the fire, the booze and her lips working triple, he reduces to gelatinous material with skeleton as the only means to clutch on with a flimsy hold.    

____

Busy trailing kisses down Nigel’s spine and accenting each slowly drawing it out languidly. Being tired enough, with fatigue and drink, that she doesn’t, register his words at first. Lifting her head out of the fog, she starts and stares at the middle of his back, some what unsure. “You know, I hadn’t given it any thought. I never had anyone to do this to, and now that I do…” Her words were sluggish and starting to dip low and drop off with the more alcohol she consumed. She wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence and let it go. Suddenly she was embarrassed that he didn’t think she was the type to cuddle and thought maybe she should stop. Hesitant she paused all her actions like a freeze frame, unsure how to proceed. He said that he wasn’t going to complain, but that didn’t mean that it was something she should be doing. Her whole body flushed red and hot, and not just from the booze. Still she second guessed herself, and she didn’t want to do anything that would chase him away, but she really had no experience with relationships, and nothing to draw on from as an example.

Awkwardly she started to peel herself off of his back, and settle next to him in a less confusing position. Leaning against him their shoulders touching, but barely naught else. Sitting on the blanket naked next to him seemed unusually natural, but her mind couldn’t quite get used to the idea. Being naked was not her natural state, she liked to cover herself in many layers, and she didn’t feel comfortable being naked in front of others, but it was different with Nigel. He made everything seem so normal, and he had an easy way of doing things. Taking another drink, she watched the fire crackle, and the smoke disappear up the chimney. Before Nigel, there hadn’t been any need or desire for close contact with other people, friends or anyone special. All she had needed was her music, and playing cello was enough for her. There had been nothing by the way of sexual attraction either, and it hadn’t even crossed her mind that she might be different.

When Nigel had approached her it had turned her simple little world upside down. Everything and anything she thought she knew was thrown out the window. She thought he was beautiful, but it hadn’t been enough to make her want to fight wars in his name or anything. It wasn’t until he asked her to play for him, and then of course fixing his stitches had changed the game for her. As if my some sort of magic spell, she found she couldn’t resist him. His kisses and how he had such a way about himself. Finally at last she had found someone who had just did it for her. Before Nigel, it was a barren desert, hot and full of life, but very little vegetation. Nigel was the oasis in her small little corner of the arid sandy expanse. Every drop of water, she soaked up, and he made flowers grow, in a place there had been none. Still hot, and scorching, but yet when the sun went down, a whole new world came to life.

Sometimes in deserts in just the right place, you see a desolate flat plan of dry earth. Only to discover that a field of flowers had popped up from no where, and grew up through the cracks to stretch their petals to the sun. That was how she felt, she was the desert, often misunderstood, always underestimated, but would be there long after everything else faded away. Nigel was the thing that brought flowers to grow in a place there logically shouldn’t be any. The analogy was accurate, and made her cherish him even more than she had words for.  Sitting cross-legged, she let her knee bump up against him faintly, just a small little way of reassuring herself that this was still real. She had the bottle of clear liquor sitting between her legs with the cap off. One arm was behind her and leaning back letting it prop her upper body up. It let her draw closer to Nigel with out touching save for their knees, and the occasional brush of shoulder.

The way she sat reminded her all to well, of the sting on her back, not that she could forget. But sometimes, if she wasn’t focusing on it, she could pretend it wasn’t there. Curiosity getting the best of her, she drew the bottle of  _ tuica _ to her lips, hiding a curl of a grin; she couldn’t help inquiring with a sly look. “What was it that you marked on my back?”  Eyebrow rising intrigued, she tipped her head back and finished the remaining booze in the bottle she held. Empty bottle she set against the stone of the fireplace out of way, so it didn’t get knocked over or broken. Moving back into her relaxed lazy position, she sat staring at Nigel. She couldn’t explain why, but she just couldn’t keep her hands off him, and it wasn’t even a sort of possessive thing, she just generally liked running her hands all over his body. Pushed foreword she laid a kiss on the point of his shoulder near her head, and closed her eyes just listening to the fire, and their breathing. Bent over almost, she laid her forehead on the spot where she had put a kiss, and just rest there, eyes still closed. 


	79. Chapter 79

As more liquor settles in, the fatigue builds up like a rising tidal wave, about to twist and turn about in the churning water as the jagged formation of the eroded bluff along with breaking waves leaving him bruised and battered. Feeling the exhaustiveness spawn fast behind his diaphanous hazel pools, exemplified by a sensation akin to a loud patter of the rain against the windows, except the back of his eyes dully ache with the redness spreading like the drug shooting through his vein, engorged and visible under his veiny hands, etched with valleys and gorges. He tends to blink a lot less than other people do and he could probably win easily if he ever entered the contest where people competed how long they can stay with their eyes open, unblinking and without tears dropping from his piercing hazel. With his disused muscles and not fully recuperated physique, the effect rises up like a dark mountain, the ginormous waves surging towards the shore, consuming everything whole as they ebb and flow.   

Letting her warmth leave ceaseless impressions against his heated skin, the glowing coppery tone spreading like smothering smoke. The woodsy comfort exuding through the ambiance, the darkness vanishes completely as the embers crackle and emit a concept entirely absent from his life - the sense of home, genuine comfort of the sanctum, they continue to bite through the layers to create a concoction of nostalgia. Now already having shared a kiss with an onslaught of feelings, sweeping with everything at once, he could never reminiscence the days when he had felt nothing at all - working until he collapsed, living like a pre-programmed robot, rotating the clock-face like a minute hand. The concept of love overrated, he had all the ephemeral means to achieve the state of cloud nine. Looking through the multitudes of vertiginous hallucinations, swirling colors and sweeping undulations of heatwaves and northern lights, the electrical charges flaring through the very atmosphere he occupies, the very air he exhales and inhales becoming sound frequencies, it was easy to die from thirst. Now feeling somewhat brainwashed, transformed into a completely different being. Wearing skin, not going through the sheer act of it. 

“I’m flexible, I don’t fucking ought to push you towards something that you’re not.” With each drawl of the vowel, he could feel the gentle reverberation and rippling sensation going through the back of his eyeballs. With less of a substantial meals to fuel his energy and unexpectedly and unwillingly having not partaken much of his usual debauchery, with the added suffocation beneath the waves as he had offered no resistance as he almost drowned beneath the claiming waves, every warmth radiating and slanting against his frame and her words, reflecting his own slowed and steady heartbeats become augmented. He would’ve been fine with how things were by himself. Occupying two drastically different worlds. The one filled with fleeting pleasures and carnal rawness, living like a true libertine with meaningless sex, spending most of the time beneath the pensive of his mind, most often locked in the most darkest niche of all, where no light would have been shone upon it. Gabi’s cello tunes had perforated what seemed vehement, but truly, flaky and half-cracked fissure, waiting for an opportune moment for breaching through it. Ultimately, how culminating that serendipitous encounter had been beneficial to all and everything.  

One leg bent and the other extended towards the fireplace, after putting lid on it as the wave of intense burn and sweltering heat from the tuica washes over the throat, licking all over his torso. With a rush of light from a particularly slothful blink, his downward gaze takes in the radiated bruise on the healed gash, the starting fire of their peculiar and wicked game. “I should teach you some fucking kick-ass skills so you can hold your own against any motherfucking perpetrators.” The tip of the tongue pressed against the top of his mouth, he licks over where the unmitigated taste clings like a stubborn heat of the pepper. With another long guzzle stretching his dewlap, his adam’s apple frantically rises and falls, as if he was trying to swallow what he had missed all those times. Making up for the times he would’ve numbed all of his senses to go back to his desolate self again, but in all the world, going back to the previous life would be utterly impossible now and all the erstwhile events had been folded upon and discarded under the wading ebb and flow of his subconscious. 

The tiny roots of redness receding behind the intensity of his hazel once again, the exhaustiveness fades away and it is replaced by a curious tilt of eyebrows. The bottle still molded around his swollen lips, tinged heavy with rosy red, a widened smirk stretches along with the curve of the glass, amplifying his typical smug smirk. Soon replaced with an easy grin, an arm circles around her shoulders, as soon as a tiny heart impresses through his shoulder, just above his tensed bicep. Each finger turning into a pressuring point, he presses the tips against the top of her head, playfully combing through the damp fiery locks, the color amplified tenfold under the wave of orange glow. The same hand continues to slither downward until he traces a faint valley where her spine begins, he takes his time, like mapping the unexplored territory yet again. He was discreet and secretive enough to hide what the single word spelled out for her earlier, but now intending to let her register it for sure, he’d forever engrave it through her heart as well as his - between their unwavering rhythmic breaths, each swipe becoming something of a tattoo needle perforating through the aorta. Shoulder to shoulder, the thin strip of flesh pressing together, his fingers continue to trace the word, never parting between each alphabet, in his usual cursive scrawl, but written with wholeheartedness.  

____

Considering his words about learning to fend off attackers, she stares skeptically into the fire. It was extremely hard for her to imagine her being ‘badass’.  She wasn’t really a fighter in that sense. She didn’t get into fights at school, and when most people looked at her they only saw an oddball cellist.  To be sure she would like to be stronger, and she longing to be a rebel, it was something that lurked under the surface and her heart. How amusing it was that Nigel was the only one who looked at her wanted to teach her how to kick-ass. It deepened the smile on her face, and she wanted tackle him to the ground for even thinking it. It was refreshing to know that he didn’t want her to just be his little weak damsel in distress. Not that she had ever been that, but he talked about teaching her so that people wouldn’t turn her into that distressed damsel. He was such a mystery, and the more time she spent in his company, the more she found she really liked him.

Watching him though half closed eyes, and stifling a yawn she saw the fire glinting through the clear bottle turning the liquor orange it was very pretty. He looked younger when he smiled, and it was adorable to see him so happy, she imagined he was mostly glowering or frowning at the world. Here he appeared to be much more relaxed and it was very endearing. Telling him that was just not something she would ever do, she didn’t think he’d like being called adorable. But there was no reason she couldn’t secretly think it, and admire his smiles, and smirks from up close. That was the moment she made a pact with herself to try and get as many of these moments out of Nigel as she could. It would probably save his life, being so stressed out, and angry all the time, she could see him blowing a gasket way too early in life, and that wouldn’t do. No she was going to make it her life goal to just see him be happier, no matter what it took.

Blinking as he snaked an arm around her shoulders, she realized she had been staring a little too long. The quick rustle of fingers through her hair, has her shake to life like a cat being pet on the head. Only Nigel was able to get such strange reactions out of her, different ones too. If she was a cat, she’d be purring and probably try to face bop him with affection. He hadn’t answered her question, but instead was tracing his fingers over it lightly, repeatedly. Just another one of their many games, even while both are almost on the brink of passing out. It’s  as if the mark on her back was Nigel’s own brand of Morse code, and he was determined for her to get his message. Inclining her head to the side, feeling little jerks from his touch making rounds, she tries to focus in on what he is spelling out. That same narrowed down precision she used with undivided attention towards her cello, and Nigel alone.

When she finally gets it, or what she thinks is the correct word, she grins. It would only make sense, and Nigel was indeed that guy, who would mark the word ‘mine’ into the back of someone he was involved with. Their circumstances weren’t exactly the same or usual for most cases. Even still, it made her chuckle, and she gave him a side-long look. He had claimed her as his own, and labeled her his, is made goose bumps ripple out across her skin. Not sure what to say, she reached over and plucked the mostly full bottle of  _ tuica _ from his hands. Shifting on the blanket, while taking a deep drink, she slid the hand she had been using as a prop up, across the expanse of his back and upward. With a feather light touch she quickly scrawled the word ‘mine’ across his shoulders mimicking his own movement one time. Then continued to run the same hand up to his neck and used that as leverage to pull him close enough to kiss.

The taste of the drink was still heavy on her lips, tingling and burning on the way down. Keeping her hand at the nape of his neck, she brought him down into the circle of her arms, and moved her leg out of the way so she could envelope him like protecting wings of a bird. The way she held him made him lean back to rest up against her front, and her body acted as the rest for him to lounge against. Taking one more drink of her own, she then brought the bottle to his lips, cradling his head, and controlling it so she didn’t spill a drop. In that moment she felt like she could stay like that forever. Always keeping him within the safety of her arms, she didn’t want to lose him, and now they she had him; it was absurd to even imagine what life would be like with out him in it. Her life was so now drastically different from just a few days ago; it was hard to believe it was all because of him with his scars and eyes. Letting out a tiny content sigh, she nuzzled his cheek with her nose, and traces a thumb lightly over the creases at the corner of his one eye. 


	80. Chapter 80

One of his knees propped up and an elbow poised against the kneecap, he traces the last letter and begins to rub over the visible impressions. The nail mark even more so standing out with the glowing illumination and the gnawing of the firewood, swirling to extend its intensity outwardly to illuminate the whole main area of the cabin. He hadn’t detected any change in her physical distress or skepticism, but as stereotypical as this gets, not most women would’ve have heard this from him. As the idea fits well with the word he had etched across her back, he couldn’t simply be adhered with her at all times. Eventually, he would have to go back to his club and exercise those atrophied muscles and use his brainpower to get into one of his killing modes again and she had school to finish.  _ Perhaps later, when he brings his form relatively closer to his peak. _ “Who knows what kind of fucked up shits will happen when we return to civilization. Just want to fucking make sure you have some kind of an idea how to use your limbs and wits.” His effortless, low drawl languidly stretches even more as his accent exaggerates to a slurred speech, like a stretched taffy extending without reaching the breaking limit. 

He still doesn’t know how or why he had come up with the idea to leave the skin marred like that; considering the pressure had been hard, enough to leave her skin blooming with rosy red without breaking into the skin would leave the impression for at least day or two. The most valid and eloquent reason he could provide is that only she had been able to mend the broken edges of his scarred surface and had his lips curved in most genuine and had his cheekbones not get stuck in his own veiled lies. That facade he always put up like towering taluses, equipped with impressive crenelation to bulwark any unnecessary interactions and if needed, and most often, he did, exert violence to whoever sought upon themselves. With the last gentle tap along the end of the letter, he stares into the circular mark, situating over the middle of her spine like an emblem. His own signature without having written his own name on it. He cannot help to ghost over a finger to still feel the lingering heat and a bit of burnt flesh. He could literally still smell the epidermal layer combining with the bitterness of the nicotine.  

The series of luscious touch itself feels like undressing even more layer off from her, although they are already stark naked and in a way with their obvious physical connection, expressing their emotions in the most innate and unrestrained means. Like a silk ribbon wrapped around her skin in a caress, a feather light touch of the gossamer gliding across phosphorescent skin, the light reaching to consume the slanted shadow of them looming and rippling about as the crepitation from the blazing fire grows. He loves the way everything is almost dead quiet, except almost inaudible trail of the fluid motion and his deep breathes, along with his relatively quiescent mind. Even when their flesh remains barely few millimeters away, he could still feel the heat radiating from her, or his own flesh contacting her through the glowing aura.   

Oblivious to the bottle being taken from his hand, he broodingly stares into the dance of the flame, already scripting the first draft on the pages of the new chapter. The place had been holding a dualistic purpose;  _ a single reminder of what his childhood could’ve been if the path hadn’t been diverted and a retreat, a sanctuary where he could drown the whole world and let everything be.  _ The cosmos had offered him an effective apparatus for him to prevent both explosion and implosion from happening. The place cannot hold a candle to anything beyond what it could bring him peace in abeyance. It would come as a no surprise that he had revealed this location, the most inner, clandestine path through the labyrinth of jumbled thoughts and knotted pasts. All this time, whenever he felt too much, it was gnawing his viscera, eating him away and not anymore. The absence of it felt unbearable and now he cannot tear himself away from drowning in feelings. It’s quite addicting, actually, more so addicting than any drugs or booze. 

That addiction now fermenting and saturating with obsession, and evidently love for him, the trans-formative process already having taken over the course of a week. He remains compliant, almost docile even compared to how he had epitomized as a feral black leopard. Lips ajar, face devoid of much expression except his muscles had been slack and his hazel pools exuded and dripped with molasses; gripping and thick with sweetness. The tingling and burning sensation is thrilling as their alcohol-ridden lips clash together to meld into her once again. Locked in a fusion, as if fitting that unique missing puzzle together, his legs instinctively move to slide underneath her own, gently swaying and shifting his torso to lean further against her, not a minuscule space left for them to press every inch of their skin. Like a desperate vagabond who had been parched beyond desiccation, he watches the liquor bubble and guzzle down with a strong suction, lips craving and almost breathlessly groping like a pedant with supplying of endless knowledge. As more alcohol settles into his stomach and the bubbling heat keeps him on an even keel, he continues to keep his eye on her, his own hand plastering against the crook of her neck to entrap her between the warmth of the blanket and his own generated one, matching the intensity of the rippling beat of the smoky wave. He does not know if she’s tracing the crease or trying to have it smoothed out, but the touch is still as electric as she had touched him for the first time and the body perceives it just as so. Bringing an arm under her head and sending both of their bodies to crash into the invisible mold of the quicksand, sinking hard and fast onto the floor, his lips mirror that of her trace, a gentle curve engraved onto the corner of his swollen lips as a permanent fixture, with her nose still pressed against his hard skin.   

___

Who cares if she didn’t look like a cuddly person, if it involved Nigel then she was it.  She couldn’t resist wrapping her arms around him, and holding him as close as she could. The new round of booze in her system also made her care less whether or not she should or shouldn’t; they didn’t call it liquid courage for nothing. Finger still making its circuit over the corner of his eye, she moves from nuzzling his cheek to kissing the place there where her fingers had been. There was something about the crow’s feet around his eyes that she loved. Either the alcohol was making her more aware and clingy or she just couldn’t help but to notice new things of Nigel’s features. Stuff that if it had been anyone else she wouldn’t pay any mind to at all. Tracing a fingertip now across the bridge of his nose, she inspected the scar there, and also laid a kiss to it.

When he locked his arm behind her neck, and they sank father down onto the blanket, she wrapped her legs around him, arms moving to hold him tight. The bottle was set down some where above their heads out of the way so it didn’t fall over. Staying mostly on her side, she didn’t want to put any weight on her back. The burn mark will have to be cleaned tomorrow, and she didn’t want to irritate it any farther. Remembering what she had planned to tell, she nosed against his ear. “I will never hurt you like that again, unless you want me to of course.” Clutching hands to either side of his face, she looking him in the eyes. Even with the joking tone, her eyes conveyed that she meant what she told him. Keeping her word was important, and she designed to never let Nigel down. If she could, she would never break a promise to him, and she would always do her best to keep and eye on his back. He seemed like he could use someone to look out for him, and she had just taken the job.

Finally answering his musing about teaching her how to fight, she stifled another yawn, and added. “I’ll let you teach me how to throw a punch and all that… if you hit me like a man.” She could feel the slow curl of her lips, as she settled her head back on his arm, and watched him think all this new bit of information over.  _ Would he do it? _ Hit her like a guy that is. It would be pointless otherwise, and she wasn’t going to stand for being treated like some fragile little flower, that was labeled- Handle with Care. After a while, she was sure she’d be able to handle it… maybe not at first, but there was always time to work up to it. Scooting closer to him, she used his body like a blanket to her front, while the heat from the fire kept the chill off of her back. Her face was buried in his chest, and the hair there tickled her nose.

Not able to keep her eyes open any longer, she rest her head against his chest, legs entwined with his, and zoned out almost asleep. She listen to the steady beat of his heart, and couldn’t help, but want to stay like this forever. The damn cabin could fall down around them, and as long as she was in his arms, she couldn’t give a flying fuck. Sluggish and content, she didn’t want to move, and sleep was weighing down on her heavy. Her arms were pulled up close to her chest, just how they had been bound by Nigel’s belt, and they lay pinned between their bodies. Her mind wandered to what tomorrow had in store. Fleeting images, she still planned to rake leaves, and make a giant pile, she had forgotten to ask about a key for the shed, and she wouldn’t bug him about it now.

With her head tucked under his chin, she stared off into space and at his neck. Watching his Adam’s apple move, and could see the stubble getting thicker on his face. He looked good with a five o’clock shadow, but he definitely seemed like the type to shave almost every day. The bite mark on his neck looked worse, due to her aggressive actions, and she would take a look at it in the morning to make sure it wasn’t infected. Drifting in and out, she mumbled inaudible nonsense, about going to the store tomorrow. Not even aware of what she was going on about at this point, her body shutting down for the night on its own. That last thing she remembered was telling Nigel, in a sleepy hushed voice. “You know… I think I…” she never finished her sentence cause she passed the fuck out, and couldn’t be bothered to even worry about what she had been about to say to him. 


	81. Chapter 81

The last long guzzle surely doing its job to seal his fate, there was no way he was going to show her the second floor, with the high rooftop, mini-bar set up beside the queen-sized bed and the wide windows that would let the slanting sunlight of the dawn in. The sight itself alone would be something like a fixture and a scene out of a fairy tale. Contouring through their stark-naked and entwined bodies. His flesh turned into a puddle of wax, molding onto the blanket and around her flesh where he is sandwiched between the heat of the waltzing flame, tiny yellow butterflies and orange birds flutter and flit into the atmosphere. Face slack, devoid of any secular stresses lips slightly parted as each breath turns even more fruity, torrid and sickeningly sweet. It’s like reducing down the sugary water to make a thick batch of syrup. He could literally feel the blazing embers graze every pore of his skin, especially along his sharp cheekbones. Reddened and radiating with feverish heat. 

The legend always begins with the truth, but it does have a tendency to change from people’s different perspective. Surely, his own autobiography would have him written as a misconstrued criminal mastermind who had failed to have a one or two crucial steps taken away because of series of unfortunate, some catastrophic, some conjunctures neutral and some chance encounters. His own imagination will take over to cloud and have the tales burnt to crisp or overlap with better memories such as this particular excursion, which make up the most darkest chapters in his book. Knowing that his and Gabi’s accounts will be the same as he keeps his own legend alive, each and every exploration of their mind and body will deepen their bond further. Making it  _ unbreakable _ ,  _ irreplaceable  _ with anyone else. If he haven’t had her in his life, then might as well as he face a premature death. He knows if he didn’t come across her with the chance encounter, then he wouldn’t be holding her and breathing in her air. For himself and to be with  _ her _ , he had grown strong (and he still does) and  _ his heart yearns to mold, be tantamount with her at all times. _

The smoldering temperature itself, along with the burning imprint of her hearts scattered throughout his body has him locked in an invisible frame, not even daring to move an inch as his half-open eyes shut, letting the melodious composition of the crackling fire, growing even more intense with little ripples eroding and nibbling through the firewood. Already forgotten about the radiant bruise that marks the contrast to his warmth-aglow skin, he traces a gentle curve along his side and returns his hand to be snaked around her waist. “I’m more than fucking sure the moment will come.”  _ Sooner or later. _ He had a penchant to exert violence and force whenever his anger had been pent up or needed some kind of release. Rounds of kickboxing and watching his sweat drip had been cathartic. Purifying himself of animosity and evil. Meeting her eyes once, the spark of electricity flying between them as with contrasting banter of her words, it’s effortless to take consideration of her seriousness with the exchanging of their intense gaze.    

Knowing that her flesh was all ivory and alabaster, looking like a fine china, but he knows her body and mind are steel. Nothing like the typical girls he had seen. She might be wearing a facade of a femininity, but everything else screamed independent, strong-willed and a hint of stubbornness. “Is that a fucking  _ proposition _ ?” Words trail to slur, a decisive stroke upon the canvas losing its vigor and intensity. Tilting his head and curving the arm underneath Gabi’s head to wind around her back without touching the burn mark, he idly strokes the length of her side, through androgynous curve until even that languid painting becomes cumbersome and requiring too much effort. “I’ll take that challenge if that’s what it takes for me to have you as a pupil.” A lazy grin tilts his lips, diaphanous orbs slowly blinking once and instantly shutting them back down.

Nose pressed into the fiery damp locks, along with the blaze contouring over their contrasting skin to mingle them further into one cohesive mass, he still scents the evidence of their carnal act before. The familiar viscous fluid still permeated through his fingers and skin. Feeling floating and sinking at the same time, it feels like the living room area has been turned into a color-field abstract painting. Saturated with undulations of radiating shades of colors, carrying his ponderous stature forth. Being lost with  _ direction _ , lost within  _ himself  _ and lost inside  _ her _ . Gently rocking his head against his shoulder, where his arm had been used as a makeshift pillow, it’s easy to slip into an abyss-like oblivion, a solemn and the most deepest slumber he had taken a plunge. Her mumbling, along with the vibrating frequencies of the air around him with the completely depleted energy turning everything to a lullaby, he wouldn’t dare to make a sound nor wake up in the middle of the night. Even when the blaze consumes the cabin whole or a rock-slide entraps them for them to be locked in a situation beyond having enough time to save themselves. Oblivious to the light peaking over, growing blindingly radiant over the horizon, his full weight presses against her smaller one, his posture turned to lay on his belly, plastered around her like a big husky with its owner.      

___

You ever have one of those nightmares that you are suffocating and the walls are closing in, and no matter how much you thrash about, you can’t move? That is how she woke up trashing about unable to move, and gasping for air. Some how during the night when they passed out; Nigel had let his full weight cover her and cage her to the blanket like a dead body. He was so heavy, and she thought she’d never get him off, he was out cold. It worried her for a split second, and she almost checked his pulse, but he was fine… Because he just wrapped his arms around her tighter, and didn’t move. To make matters worse, she had to pee really bad, and he had morning wood, and it was pressed up against her hipbone. Inwardly she groaned, and was torn between leaving the warm circle of his arms, and feeling naughty, and touching him in his sleep. Or getting up and finding the bathroom if this place even had one. Sliding her hands all over his body, she tried to figure out her dilemma.  _ Ugh, why are you so fucking hot, and why do I have to piss so bad right now….  _

Pouting like a child, her body won out in the end, she wriggled out from underneath Nigel, pushing him by the shoulder off just enough, and slipped out to roll off the blanket and get up. Her back was sore, and she had slept on it a good deal. He hadn’t even stirred from her removing herself from his clutch and so she looked around. The fire had gone out, but it wasn’t cold. With the sun high in the sky she would guess it to be able noonish. Picking up her camera she went in search of the bathroom. The cabin wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small either, from the outside you could tell it had an upper floor. Tip-toeing up the stairs, she crept along trying to make much noise. Not that it mattered, she was fairly certain nothing would wake Nigel up from his alcohol-fueled coma. The thought made her giggle, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

On the second floor, she took in the view, it was marvelous, and in the sunlight everything sparkled. There was a queen-sized bed, and a mini-bar. Narrowing her eyes she glared. And here they had slept on the floor, but then she shrugged. What the fuck ever… it was worth it. Getting to wake up with a naked Nigel on the floor, in front of a fireplace… Who could claim they got to do that? Turning around she saw a door, and prayed to the powers that be that it was a bathroom. Opening the door, it was, oh fucking glorious day. When she saw the giant tub, she padded over to it and pet the side lovingly. “Oh bathtub I love you.” Already she was plotting for Nigel and her to take a bath together the minute he woke up. Shutting the door carefully, she used the toilet, and than washed her hands, looking up she realized she looked like shit.

Her hair was sticking up all over the place, and she felt really dirty. She smelled like sex, booze, and cigarettes. And she really could use a drink of water. Taking a selfie in the mirror of the bathroom, she had promised a before and after photo. This would certainly do the trick, and she did look notably different. While the photo developed, she affixed and put it on the corner of the mirror so it stayed in place. She washed off her smeared and smudged make-up. Splashed some water on her face afterwards, and went to get a small glass from the mini-bar. She filled it from the sink in the bathroom, and chugged down two full glasses. She felt as terrible as she looked, and was pretty sure she had a hang-over, but she didn’t have anything to go by as a reference. Everything was so new to her; she had lived such a boring life until Nigel… Leaving her camera on the bathroom sink, she went out into the bedroom. There she climbed up on the bed, and laid face down. Groggy and sore all over, but the bed felt so nice after having slept on the floor that she didn’t care. Yawning, she got up off the bed a little grudgingly, and tromped back down the stairs to the first floor.

Nigel was still asleep, and so she crept up, and slithered back down onto the blanket next to him. Wrapping her whole smaller frame around his, much how he had laid on top of her the whole night, she buried her face in his neck. Breathing in his scent, and cuddling up to him, she lay there, just enjoying the feel of his body against hers. There was no way she could ever get sick of this, or him. Being with him and spending alone time with someone, it was all so strange and exciting. They were becoming very close, very fast, and it amazed her at how easy it was. With his outward persona, she could see how many people would be scared or intimidated by him, but she wasn’t scared of him at all. He was like the monster in her closet that she had become best friends with, and took the time to get to know. Yet everyone was still scared of him, and judged him for what they heard or seen. There was no way now that she could see him as a monster any more than she could see a tiger as a monster. They were just who they were, and a product of their natures. You can’t punish a fly for being a fly, and a lion for being a lion. People were always to quick, and willing to judge others, but never wanted to really get to know that person. Cause once you humanize the monster, then you can’t hate them anymore, she supposed. The only difference was, Nigel had never been a monster to her, ever…


	82. Chapter 82

If he had been awake and watched his reflection against the full length mirror behind where they laid naked, secluded from the world and behind the impassive expression, his heart leaped and spirits sunk into an oblivion. At the end of the day, the most pleasureful experiences end up to be fleeting. No matter how he  _ is  _ hopelessly in love and had consummated their status of relationship over and over again, it’s difficult to pluck himself off from fading into the bottomless pit, spiraling down beyond rescuing. More than his parched mouth, the sunless garden where all the flowers are dead, a lump in his throat he just cannot get down. If he could bring forth the conscious and wash down all the cracks and fissures of his tainted heart and rip it right out of his cage, he could gladly do so. With shattered and broken walls, myriads of gashes and injuries causing an irremediable rift. Although those shifting and widening cracks meant vulnerabilities and weaknesses, for some unknown reason, he had wore them like talisman, protecting him from all things disastrous. His life had already been hellish enough until a light peered through the room, then filling with dancing streams of light. 

As the sparkling and swaying billows of flame and smoke gradually dies out and the only sound fills the cabin is their shared breathes and occasional sighing breeze rustling the foliage, deepened with a setting darkness and bathing moonlight swaying against the ledge of the windowsill, his own unconscious swarms with a bitter chill, quickly replacing the warm, rosy puddle of light cocooning him. The winter is a long reach away from his grasp, but he could still register the barren, dreadful snowfall, unperturbed except a morbid image flashes across as an overexposed photograph. In his alcohol-induced comatose, he sees himself as he turns into an astral body, everything in his mind becomes blur until the heavy fog gradually clears up. His body reflected in his own very hazel. More than the lifeless limbs, shredded and ripped like voodoo doll that had haunted him in his childhood years, he recalls when his long-time unspoken, estranged brother, in their adolescence, telling him not to go out the day when he had been starting to be intimate with his criminal side, already committing misdemeanors and being the most horrendous delinquent in his town and the next two neighborhood in. 

The older twin had stated that he had an ominous nightmare of him getting into the very same car wreck that had their parents to meet an unexpected demise. True to the words of a sinister premonition, his face had been completely shattered and beyond unrecognizable when he had been urgently carried into the emergency room, where doctors extensively worked to give Nigel a reconstructive surgery to fix everything in place. Spending most of their parents’ inheritance on giving him new sets of teeth planted, his broken nose fixed and his face taken in shape with Hannibal’s face as if modeled after in malleable wax. Cast in a mold to fit the likeness of the other twin. Knowing the words deceived greatly, the other’s and doctor’s assuring words of him looking ‘beautifully gorgeous’ didn’t ring a bell. And to tear himself from recognized as the other, one thing he impulsively decides is to get the pin-up girl tattoo over his carotid, one of the most vital place on the human body. Never in his life,  _ unless absolutely necessary _ , would he reveal what he truly was. Until, he met Gabi.  

Out of all the vivid memory stretching the span of time, the four days of him being in a coma is completely wiped out from Nigel’s memory. Too painful a touch with morality and the very reason he kills for the first time, after they adamantly work to track down who had hit and ran him over. His heart beats beyond hyperventilation and he is benumbed by painkillers coursing through his vein. With his scraggy unwashed hair and bandaged up and swollen face, his usual penetrative hazel is the only thing that gives off that he is indeed alive and relatively well. He still remembers his first word, in a gravelly and low tone. As if his throat had been ran over with jagged edges of glass shards. “Mirror,” from the depth of shattered brokenness and the empty casing of himself present in the form of his pallid complexion, he dares to make no noise. Lips frozen with a ghostly line, a stinging droplet of tear only seeping through the red-smeared bandages as trembling heat of emotion erupts from the core. Behind his cold nonchalance, that would be not the only brush with grim scythe of reaper.   

Looking through the thicket of oppressing pitch-blackness, he clutches around Gabi’s form, a slightest pinch of brows visible on his nevertheless placid face. The peering light of the afternoon sun, overhead the cabin soon fills with drowning dancing streams, along with the chirping of birds and rustling foliage. The woodsy cedar and oak scent permeating the surface of the cabin walls, feeling the quaint old cabin with more charm. The breeze wafting through the slanted open windows. Still fast asleep and locked in the deep lassitude, his eyes frantically roll behind the closed eyelids, taking in how debilitated, lack of lusciousness, encased in more androgynous shell of his youth, blue veins against his pale skin, his pupil shot up with blood staring him back with haunted gaze of a phantasm. It immediately sends a shiver right up his spine and as much as it had all kinds of elements people dream about in their nightmares; death, falling, their most weakest moments, and so on, he was the furthest from being ordinary. Everything too intense, amplified and his imagination running rampant.   

_ Will Gabi love when the monster in him had been unleashed? _ She had seen him in most vulnerable state. His sweet ‘adorable’ side he doesn’t want to admit with a hint of imperfectness. With the blinding light casting a spell for him to arouse, his parched mouth struggles to part as well as his tightly glued eyelids. Thick lashes straining to lift them up as sweat had acted like an adhesive. The bridge of his nose scrunching and a brow lifted upward, a groan pushes through his throat, a drought as he pushes down an invisible lump. Well aware of his throbbing ache down his length as his morning glory greets him before he registers Gabi’s pressed weight, he urgently and reluctantly pushes himself off without a word, limbs still weighty and feeling like he’s sleepwalking. Then his equally guttural and husky voice, along with his usual lengthened intonation breaks the silence. “I gotta take a fucking leak.” With his hair fanned all around his head like a lion’s mane and with two-day old stubble, he scurries upstairs with a bit of moisture clinging onto the corner of his eyes, mirroring the expression when he had woken up from the coma about twenty years ago. 

____

Nearly dozing off again while draped around Nigel like a shawl, she snuggles up to him even closer. Arm flung over his chest, and fingers carding thought the thick carpet of hair there. It was slowly becoming one of her favorite things to do, and it was oddly comforting. Just as she is about to fall asleep again, she is shifted, and Nigel is slipping through her fingers, only to disappear up the stairs in a rush. With her eyes closed still she hadn’t seen his face, and only barely registered his words. With a start she sits bolt upright, shaking the sleep from her head. Getting up with a groan, and cracks her back, and stretches a little bit. Strangely she doesn’t want to let Nigel out of her sight, but she isn’t going to just waltz right into the bathroom.  _ That would be rude right…? _

Taking the stairs two at a time, she starts to finally find her energy. Looking around the room, she spares a glance to the closed bathroom door. With a shrug she runs full board can does a vault onto the bed, laying there for a few minutes, with a grin plastered to her face.  Wobbling from the cushiony top of the bed, she stands up. Feeling in a good mood, she starts jumping on the bed. She doesn’t care if Nigel comes out and tells her not to do it. Nothing can ruin her calm today. What was he gonna do to her anyways, she’d just enjoy it whatever devilish punishment he meted out. It would be down right ecstatic if she could ever get Nigel to jump on the bed with her. Now that would be something to write home about. Gleefully she bounced up and down like a little kid, and couldn’t help the chuckle that came bubbling out. Like an exuberant burst of champagne.

Falling back with arms spread wide, she flops down on her back, and winces. She had forgotten for a split second about her new mark upon her porcelain expanse of back, and hadn’t meant to put weight on it. Panting she sat up and looking around the room for a clock, wondering what time it was. It seemed like Nigel had been in the bathroom for a while, and if he had just going to take a piss… it shouldn’t have taken him so long. Crawling across the bed on all fours, she jumped down, and walked over to the door. Chewing on a nail, she debated on whether she should knock or just go in. She didn’t want invade his privacy, but she didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. Worried that if she left him alone too long, he’d start to get gloomy, taking a deep breath, and set herself in a determined line, she knocked first and than opened the door.

Nigel was leaning forward with both hands on either side of the sink, hunched over. Wasting no time, she rushed over, and adhered herself to his back, arms wrapped around him tight. No, not today, she wasn’t going to let him sink down into the depths of bad memories, and painful reminders. There was no way she could even begin to imagine what demons chased him, but she knew it wasn’t good. The only thing she had to go by was the untimely death of his whole family, and that alone was bad enough. Squeezing him around the middle a little too tight, she mumbled against his back. “Stay with me.” Like a mermaid she saw her sailor drowning in the deep ocean, and she did the only thing she knew how. Saving him from drowning was the first step. Frantic and having no other course left, she dragged him from the depths. Twisting under and coming up between his arms and the sink, standing before him and the mirror. She faced him chest to chest, she stared at him. Eyes searching his face, and sliding her hands up his arms, until she rest both hands on either side of his face.

Standing on tippy toes, she kissed him hard. Like the mermaid giving the drowning man air. She wasn’t going to lose him, and she was stubborn enough that she would see it done. Forcefully she kissed him like it would be their last, and molded her body against his, rocking them both back and forth. If she could, she would have climbed down his throat and breathed life into him if it meant he’d come back to her. Her hands stayed locked firmly behind his hand, but she pulled away briefly. “Take a bath with me.” Her tone was a demand, and was not going to let him say no. When she was determined nothing much could stop her. Already she had made up her mind to take a bath with him, now it just seemed more important. Nipping him on the lip, she pushed little quick kisses to the corner of his mouth, and pressing herself up against him.  Reluctantly she drew away, hand sliding down to take his hand. Settling on the cold edge of the tub, and turned on the hot water, the whole time she held on to him, and wouldn’t let go. 


	83. Chapter 83

Practically leaping and scampering through the stairs, he could already feel the heavy hydraulic dam about to break as he steps into the bathroom, equally bucolic and bare of all the unnecessary sophistication. Thinking about what they had done the night before doesn’t help to get his mind off of his bodily function, urgent in its own as well as the ghastly afterimages of another haunting memory, another token of his abruptly ended childhood and puberty. Overgrown and having witnessed more gore and shredded layers of the construct, so far from the idealized life he had coveted. Like drawing in a storybook, how he would become the most elegant, eloquent and eccentric criminal mastermind to rule the city, but not this broken. Scratched and chipped like an abandoned broken record. Having plunged into the depth of inescapable and impassioned love, he abhors the concept, even a minuscule thought of abandonment and loss surfacing on the tip of the iceberg where everyone would be able to see just how powerless he really was. 

The swirling flushing of the water drowns the sniffled tears, threatening to push forth as the familiar sensation of heatwave surges behind his still bloodshot corners of his eyes. Padding heavily towards the faucet to smooth a hand over his dry and prickling stubble, he lets a heaving sigh expand his chest out, as earth-rattling sigh fogs up the mirror in a halo-shape. Then, he catches Gabi’s selfie staring at him with a barely noticeable grin slanted across her lips. The promised after-shot to go along with the previous night’s ‘before’ picture. Recalling his own take of the before picture in front of his bike, the last thing he wants to do is to mar the memory of precious playfulness they had exhibited since he plucked himself out of the dark abyss. With another heavy sigh drooping his face, he gives his best attempt to hook the corner of his stubborn lips to curl upward. Looking more like a kid who doesn’t want to smile in front of the camera with a pout, the blinding light captures his leonine complexion, pointy, straight hair haloing and cupped all around his sharp features and slightly narrowed gaze, about to bite off the lens. He has to admit though, her after picture likes shit, even more so than his does.    

His usual penetrative gaze turning laser-sharp as if he had been internally inspecting beneath the skin, he is still not completely liberated from the raveling of the reeled film of the past. Drenched with repulsive and nauseous amalgamation of disinfectants, rubbing alcohols and uncomfortable rush of morphine through beveled needle, leaving countless marks along with irremovable scars to come forth his life, raining down one after the other. Fingertip grazing against the dark bag under his eyes, looking even more sunken under his deep-set eyes and pronounced cheekbones, sharp enough to cut through paper. As his body remembers the inevitable epiphany of his shattered skull, almost harsh shiver, irrevocable one, propels upward through each vertebrae and he is forced to succumb to his body’s natural sensation. To retreat back to his pensive once again. Where every outwardly sensation instantly and instinctively shut down. Even easier than a flick of a light switch. Heavy curtain immediately drawing over his heart, beyond hyperventilation, talon-like cages looming close as walls in his mind also closes in to ensnare him.    

His own fingers turning clamps, knuckles whiten against the porcelain sink, encased around the oak to give that masculinity vibe. Even with the downpour of rain, not a single drop would wet him. Still not feeling if he’s fully awake or asleep, or sleepwalking in this very moment. The walls of the bathroom don’t close toward him, but he feels like walking around the walls in circles, never being able to break the towering vehemency down. Unaware of her pressing her front against his slouched back, her words slowly snap him out from the millions and millions of layers of cobweb, the dusted storage where suffocating dampness and dank air greeted him. “I’m here.” Fingers curled into a tight fist before he lets go of the sink, probably for the first time ever with her, he’s the first one to avoid his gaze. The eyes strikingly true for being the windows of the soul, the cliche rings even more with a devastating truth that his unhindered emotions become a transparent film. Even with his indifferent expression, his eyes were dismal at lying. 

Pulling himself from the grotesqueness, her slithering arms help him to be plucked off from the funnel of his mind, slipping towards the inevitable. Firmly making a resolution that he wouldn’t repeat the previous night’s anguished gloominess, he doesn’t want to become the lost wanderer of the sea, entrapped in the gale, with nowhere to go but to drown in his emotion. Her kiss materializing into a siren’s call, he slips a gasp before enchanted into her spell, snaking an arm around her back and grazing the cigarette mark as he lifts her slightly. The exquisite heat slithering through his spine is as good as the warm splatter of crimson against his cheek, watching his victims’ eyes fog up as the menace grin the last sight that they will register before dropping in a heap, dead before even hitting the ground. Their face mingling and the sound of their voluptuous lips smacking and gliding the only sound feeling the room, the whooshing blood and his stiff and aching erection leaks then. Scrunching his face, but he doesn’t show any sign of disagreement, he watches his bottom lip smack against his teeth, lips slightly ajar as he languidly yawns, pivoting his hips and pressing against the sink once again with a closing curl of his fingers. Retrieving the electric razor and setting it aside, he covers his whole lower face with shaving cream with half-open gaze, his gaze briefly looking at two pictures at them being hungover, completely sloshed, looking more human with not even an ounce of pretentiousness. Not letting go of her hands, he swiftly finishes shaving and tugs his lower lip under his upper one, stretching his angular chin and jaw for smoothness. “A lady first, darling.” He gives a gentle poke on her ass, towards the tub’s direction.  

____

The whole time she drew the bath, she watched him shave. Hand clutched in his, and acting like an anchor, the whole time she never once let go. Moving from the edge of the tub, while steam curled, and water flowed, she leaned against the sink. Head inclined to the side, curious like a crow considering an interesting object. The imagery suits her more than one could think, as a group of crows was indeed called a murder. They loved to play, one of the most intelligent animals in the world, and able to use and construct tools. Just how a group of crows would band together and gang up on a bigger foe to drive them away, she had judged Nigel worthy, and had accepted him into the fold. Anything that tried to aggravate or harass him would now have her to deal with also. So to like the crow they often mate for life, and she planned to be in Nigel’s life for the long haul.

Holding his hand between the two of hers, she waited until he was finished shaving, and turned to look at their matching photos on the mirrors edge. It brought a grin to her face, and blinking she looked up to meet his eyes in the mirror, cold grey-blue soaking up hazel, so many things unsaid, shared with just one glance. Even though she wore not a lick of clothing, she felt incredibly naked with out her make-up on. As if with out it, she didn’t have her armor on, and that look he gave her suggested that he could see into her soul. She had to look away, there was only so much she could handle of being split at the seams and exposed like that for so long. When he poked her on the ass, and suggested she get in first, she laughed, and shut the water off.

Climbing into the hot water, she made a face, nose wrinkled, while the steam licked at her legs. Settling slowly into the water, she jumped with a start, when her back hit the cold surface of the tub. With a flinch she eased into it, and it felt good on the burn mark. Cold on her back, while the rest of her cooked from the overly hot bath. Feeling adventurous, she took a deep breath and sunk down into the water now that she had acclimated to the heat. Submerged all the way, eyes squeezed shut, she let the water soak into every pore. Popping right away back out of the water, she slicked back her hair, mouth open, and gasping for air. Holding her hand out to him again, she waited for him to climb into the water and join her. “I may have gone over board with the hot water.” At that she couldn’t help from laughing, and tried to look apologetic, but it didn’t quite make it.

Scooting back as far as she could go she made space for him. When he settled between her legs at last, she wrapped herself around him like an octopus. All the heat, between Nigel and the water, soothed every ache she had. It was so comfortable; she could almost fall asleep like that. Leaned back against the tub, with Nigel pressed up against her front like a protective barrier. Pulling him in close until he was reclined back against her, she wrapped her arms around him tight, water dripping from her face still, down onto his shoulder to slide lower and merge back into the water. Having a moment of clarity, she blurt out with out even thinking, in a hushed mousy voice, that was very unlike her. “You are not alone, not anymore.” It seemed rather obvious… in hind sight and she didn’t know why she even said it, but for some strange reason, she felt like it needed to be clarified. Nigel might have other people in his life that she didn’t know about, but in the regard to the two of them, he was no longer with out someone to lean on.

There were no secret plans or end goals for her to try to change him. Like so many people think they can and try to do to others. Firstly it was extremely hard to change people, and unless they were willing to do so, they never would. And secondly she didn’t want to change him. Nigel was perfectly fine the way he was. If anything he just needed someone to balance him out, and she was willing to take up that role. With a curl of lips, and a Cheshire grin, she smiled to herself, she couldn’t help but to think of a poem from the lord of the rings, one of her favorite book series. It was about one of the main characters and how they were gruff and misleading on the outside, but inside… that was what truly mattered. How everyone judged him on the outside, but didn’t really take a closer look. Indeed it was very true that ‘ _ All that is gold does not glitter. _ ’ It seemed to fit Nigel well, as he carried a hard outer shell that did more than repel others, it hid his true self. She was starting to realize that the many layers to Nigel ran deeper than the roots of the world tree. Like Odin seeing all, and with twin ravens… crows perched upon his shoulders. Leaning her head down she rest her chin on Nigel’s shoulder and stared down into the water at their feet side by side. 


	84. Chapter 84

Her anchoring, firm clasp of fingers feel like the safe haven, the leash against his corporeality that would draw the boundaries where he could escape to. If he didn’t have that, the quicksand would surely already have claimed him by the ankles and lock inescapable shackles around his limbs. Suffocating, restrained and powerless, as his lungs become a set of deflated balloons, the walls thinning and finally perforated open. He could still taste the jet of emotion oozing out of the continuous trail of teardrops, becoming stinging and beating waterfalls against his jagged features of his adolescence. Shoddily put together as a broken and shattered doll. He wishes he wouldn’t see his former self, his wretched self-confidence and soaring egocentricity shed in strips. Mummified as his swollen redness gazes back to him like a strange creature from the outer space. Smoothing a hand over his sharp jaw like he would a fragile china cup, he joins Gabi in the tub full of erupting steam, shrouds encompassing his exhausted body and mind. 

The nakedness; both literal and metaphorical, didn’t even help with the whiling mind. The gale, thunderstorm and the angrily beating waves frantic and growing more urgent, desiring for devouring anything and everything. The upheaval too great against his healing wounds. Beside the physical debilitation that had rendered him out of commission, no one came remotely close even trying to comprehend his atramentous moods, gloomy and miserable. Forlorn of comfort and devoid of a clutch of balance to lean back to. Even when the caterpillar turned into an imago, the last stage of his transformation, emerging from the cocoon to become and soar into the vast sky as a glorious butterfly required significant amount of vigor and affliction. He had been aware of the surroundings as he reclines against her comfortableness; the licking hot water which literally melting all the tensions in his muscles, the exertion, both from his distress and bubbling anticipation. .     

Wishing he could sleep forever and forget about all of this, he wonders if he just lays inside within her suctioning embrace, all would be okay. Like a sedated patient numb from all the pain, sinking into the tranquility once again. From all the intrusive thoughts and the haunting chapters in his life that would come as if his life had been already set in stone, the path already predestined for him to take. Perhaps god he didn’t believe had been playing games with him. Like Russian roulette, he would be bound to lose and forfeit, no matter how many times he desperately tried. His hot-running body doesn’t contradict the sweltering hotness that begin to ensnare him in the place. No, he will remain unconquerable, and even when there had been curve-balls thrown at him within the duration of his life, he always had escaped, although he wasn’t completely unscathed. Myriads of scars and bruises had hardened him, innately enabling him to form an impenetrable outer layer. As his favorite poem recites as if it had been his own words. _Beyond this place of wrath and tears, as he overcomes the lingering shades and menace of the years, he would stand tall,_ _unafraid_. _He is the master of his fate and he is the captain of his soul_. No one else could take an ownership of that. 

No more of the empty shell of his former self, he brushes off the enraging, engulfing and all-consuming ominousness. He’d be the wave that conjoins with hers, turns vehement to drown those who would ever breach between them and his sanity. How wretched it is, that good memories had strong tendencies to be fleeting, while bad memories, which had been stored inside Pandora’s Box and once it opens to be rampant, it gnawed at his heart until he sinks into an oblivion. A leg bent to prop himself from sliding down against the steamy water and hands clasped around her fingers and bringing about his abdomen, his idle caress continues. As if he had been stroking the most prized possession. “I always thought third time was the charm.” He inadvertently divulges in his typical husky baritone. “After my parents’ death, I had fainted and thought I’d never wake up, at least until that wintry frigidness passed as if a hibernating animal. Then there had been a motherfucking hit-and-run accident. I was in a bloody coma for four days. Of course, the looming onslaught of the same though consumed me whole.” 

The emotion growing more effervescent as his chest heaves to expand, he molds his body further against Gabi’s, gazing blankly across the simply decorated interior. The design had been taken into a consideration to feel the nature even when he was inside. The most solace he had felt in his childhood years. Not a bloodstain tainting this very place where he had considered his safe sanctum where no one would dare to trespass. A final revelation. “I’m fucking glad you decided to come to this place with me. It really means a lot to me.” If he ever said this before, he had meant it as much as he did with this particular appreciation, the seal of approval deepens with each drawl of his word. It was as close as it comes to him saying ‘thank you, for trying to understand me from inside out,’ as there had been no single individual who had given it a chance. Hesitant and blind, Gabi had been nothing but illuminating. Perhaps that’s what true love was; a single blazing ray of illumination. He was entitled to be known like this; a sensitive soul shut inside the brusque and rough exterior that made everyone to be driven away. 

___

Listening to the water slosh against the side of the tub with every minute motion, and shift of their forms. Sitting with her knees drawn up on either side of his waist. Nigel had taken her hands prisoner, and was stroking a thumb across her fingers. There was no objection from her, and it was very comforting, but she suspected it was more for his benefit than her own. Mulling things over and contemplating his words, head propped on his shoulder. “It would seem it was not your time, you looked Death in the face, and told it,  _ Nu acum , sunt ocupat _ .” She had a sassy grin on her face, and kissed him on the cheek. If anyone could tell death itself off, it would be Nigel, there was no doubt of that. Stretching her toes, she entwined her legs with his and locked herself around him tight.

There was a bar of soap sitting on the edge of the tub next to the wall, she eyed it precariously. Debating on whether or not Nigel would object to being scrubbed down by her right now. Her thoughts were interrupted by Nigel’s new admission, he was glad she came with him to this place. The news warmed her from the inside out. With out thinking about it, cheekily she informed him. “Some one has to keep an eye on you… better make it two eyes.” She purred it against his ear, and nipped at his earlobe, placing kisses along his neck. It was all very matter of fact, like it was common knowledge that she would follow him to the ends of the earth and back. Taking her left hand back, leaving the other still resting on his abdomen, she picked up the bar of soap.

Having thought about it for a while, she added. “There is no place I’d rather be, and I mean that.” It might have sounded a little cliche, but it was fun spending time with Nigel and she couldn’t complain about the sex either. If she planned to be with him for a while, she wanted to learn as much as she could about him. It only seemed logical that they would go places together, and this was the perfect place to get to know him. With no interruptions, and the beautiful countryside it was all very romantic. It was a place you could fall in love at, just the thought of falling in love with Nigel made her face heat. It brought back a hazy reminder that she almost told him last night that she might be falling for him. It wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about, not really, but it made her turn beet red regardless. She had never been in love before that was one thing she knew for a fact. Whatever she was feeling toward Nigel had to be something akin to love. There was no explanation for the way he made her feel, and how simple things were around him. Being with him was just like another extension of herself. Not sure about fate and soul mates and all that, but he of all people falling in love with the sound of the cello just as much as she loved playing… it had to mean something.

Using both hands she submerged the bar of soap in the water, and started working up a lather. Bubbles were forming on the surface and clinging to Nigel’s skin. Diligently she ran soapy hands over his torso, along with the bar, fingers slippery and sliding effortless across his chest. No matter how hard she tried to stay clinical, it wasn’t that simple. Trying her best to shut her brain off, it didn’t work. Her mind kept taking in details, and processing it into a direct feed to her desire. _ How could she ever hope to get anything done with him naked around her? _ Stifling a small chuckle, she asked him. “A few days ago, do you recall when I washed you up?” It really seemed like it was forever ago, a different life time. She didn’t know him then, and she had still tried her best not to be attracted to him, what an utter fail. “Torture…absolute torture.” With enough soap on her hands, and on his upper body, she put the bar back, and continued her slow task.

Fingers running through the coarse hair on his chest, she washed under his arms, and down his sides, lightly touching only fingertips to the sensitive raised scar tissue. Taking up the bar of soap again she got it wet, dripping water all over his arms, and started there. Working both hands up and down his arms, and across his shoulders, she took her time paying attention to every detail, and listening to his breathing. With both hands, she clutched him around the neck, just touching, and not applying any pressure. She tilted his head to the side, and examined the bite mark there just above his tattoo. It had scabbed over, and still looked pretty bad, but not infected. It just looked tender; she carefully washed over it, just grazing to apply soap. With light circular motions she massaged it, and then rinsed it off with clean water right away. With both hands cupped together, she poured water down the front of his body, and slicked soap off his arms. Satisfied with her job, she leaned forward, with two fingers under his chin, and turned his head enough to the side so she could kiss him. 


	85. Chapter 85

The most simplistic gesture of all, his thumb grazing over her fingers acts like an emollient, a soothing gesture that brings the peace of mind as the gale inside his mind subsides into the quietude of the calm windless and cloudless sea of serenity once again. Like most men did, and for a good measure, he had considered a stream of tear a sign of weakness. Whenever Death stared into his eyes and told him it was time to part the earth, it had been feeling like life had abandoned him, not the other way around. He wasn’t afraid of death, he had brushed with the very manifestations of them too early, too often and exercised his own means of delivering his victims at the doors of limbo as well. How effortless and without all the proper steps to feel that exhausting pounding of the tender skin, beating like percussion of the drum as the piercing splitting pain binds across the expanse of the skin. Every breath he takes knotting his throat, intermittently sending a jolt of wretched pins and needles down every crack of the skull. A point-blank to their head dulls everything out and cuts across necessities of life. The fluctuations of ephemeral happiness and living in the shadows of recurrent pain.  _ Nagging and tight.  _

Although he had been extremely lucky with his reconstructive surgery, having undergone such a calamity had left him more than a dent and molded his personality differently. A power of miracle that blew into him by hands of the most expert doctors in the field and with a state-of-the-art equipment, there would be no visible marring except the one on his nose, the injury had stacked up since then with ongoing bouts of bar brawls, mostly from the nature of his job. Risky and unpredictable. The will to live overwhelming the need to be placed in his darkest moods, dragging a cheerless somber aura about behind him, tainting the others around it. No one would even dare close the distance and be intrusive. His own boiling blood and the anger licking taut against his scowled face, a sinister grin of a scythe, half-opened eyes throwing sharp daggers as every muscle tingled with iniquitous rage. Wearing his unapproachable veil underneath pieces of shattered hearts and mind melded with wrath-propelled fuel, he had divulged and transformed his short-lived self-loathsomeness to egotistical mannerisms, looking down with a contemptuous gaze. If Death has to drag him down once again, he’d give it a relentless knuckle punch so that the jaw unhinges from the spinal cord. 

“Indeed, have been too fucking busy living it. The Death’s presence will be nullified even when that motherfucker gives his most desperate shot. I’d rather live through the tearing pain than miserably trying to call it a halt.” _ Unless he had absolutely no place to retreat to. _ It could be a physical embodiment or his metaphorical sanctum, stored deep inside his mind. All the cracks and crumbs turned to pastiche of most intricate and complex-layered masterpiece. Leaning in for the imprint on his cheek, the lingering darkness dissipating along with the thick foggy steam, beginning to form a nice layer along the ceiling as if offering a protective barrier upon other intrusive thoughts from breaking through it. “Speaking of the number two, I would appreciate the thought even more if your two  _ lovely  _ eyes could keep me in check for another day at the cabin. That would fucking mean you skipping the goddamn school.” Languidly stretching the syllables as he stretches to arch his neck, he reciprocates the gesture and nuzzles into the crook of her neck, brushing a hot trail of warmth along the exposed skin.   

In contrary to seeking solitude in his mind, it didn’t take much to have his fragile psyche rattled. Impatient and always with a nerve attracted to an imminent danger, it only took one single swoosh of bullet firing from the projectile to shook him up. All the cacophonous flurry of bullets didn’t even budge him. As it is Gabi’s hands lathering up the foam, assuaging, assuring and acting as a healing salve. A hand propped against the bathtub’s edge, fingers frivolously gliding across the grain of the smooth maple, he concentrates all of his senses on her loving caress and the steady-going heartbeat, a pleasant lick of fluttering sensation soaring against his spine. Along with the wave of calm, he welcomes the burst of arousal gathering in a heavy puddle, aching to be released. “I don’t even fucking remember. It feels like an eternity ago when in fact, it had been only couple of days ago. Maybe I was in a different dimension.” He registers even when he’d have a cardiac arrest and dying from exsanguination, whatever Gabi did will resurrect him to his current condition. His imagination runs rampant with any reins attached to. There would be no taming it. 

While she had been occupied with the task she set forth completing, his gaze turns molasses, still percolating as to his topic of conversation this morning. The idea of mortality, how it had been so accessible for him to get closer than most people had and it brought forth the most fascinating talisman of an enchantress. Now almost imperceptible throb turns to a gentle undulating wave, the last night’s succumbing to raw carnality blurring in his still slightly numbed mind. The distilled spirit had that unwanted side effect, but the lush sleekness of the bar soap sends a gentle quiver along the most sensitive part of the body. The single reminder to make his flamboyance and peacock personality shine. Two hands around his neck gives him an idea and yet again, he is reminded of just how hard he is, mitigating and cathartic the whole procedure of washing his soiled body it really is. A hint of mischief tugging his lips as he reciprocates the latch of his lips, spine arches to press into her further and he moves one of her hands under the sensitive flap of the skin, impeccably smooth after the shave. Not wanting to part his lips just yet as the flaring electric current resonates southward to pool around his lower abdomen, he hopes she has gotten his silent request, more like an invitation.

___

Kissing him this way, twisted around and latched together like they were conjoined, has her heart fluttering in her chest.  Nigel moved her one hand back to its place round his neck. Her mind felt like it was underwater and murky. Anything she had wanted to say about skipping school was tossed out the window like a Molotov cocktail and set ablaze. The only thing it registered was the press of their bodies and the caress of lips. When her brain surfaced through the haze and fire, realization hits her like a smack to the face. Eyes snapping open with a feral glint. Bringing her other hand up to mirror on the other side of his neck as she continued to kiss him. Fingers slithering around like a boa constrictor, slowly tightening in small increments. At first just a hold, clutching him just under the chin, and pulling his neck taut, and forced at an angle to keep kissing her. It looks like she is about to snap his neck, with fingers splayed under his jaw. Then at last shifting their place from under his jaw to lower, where she can feel the jump of his pulse beat against her hand.

Biting at his lower lip, she can’t help moving her body against his, as it’s pressed harder into her front. The hard line of his form sending an electric shock down her spine, straight down to her lower body. Finally pulling her brain out of the thick smog that surrounds her senses, she realizes that Nigel is hard. It sends a thrilling quiver through her whole mass, shaking her down to her core. She didn’t think she would ever get used to the knowledge that being around her turned Nigel on. It only fed that dark side of her mind; it grew like a little perverse thing in a shell. What hatched later on would be an untamable creature. At least right now it was contained in the hard protective case. Who was it protecting though its self or others… until it broke free, there would be no knowing. There was something so thrilling about being in control and taming a beast like Nigel. If you could call it taming, that wasn’t quite right, the truth of the matter was she never really felt like the one in control. It was more like obeying commands to do as the beast wanted, and hoped she didn’t lose a finger in return.

Loosely she knew about bdsm, but beyond a few words… she had no idea what she was getting into, all she knew was there was a dominant and a submissive. The funny thing about the relationship between Nigel and herself was, it was hard imagining Nigel as the submissive. He was so… intense and aggressive. While she loved that about him, she wasn’t sure how she would be able to ever be more dominant than he already was. There had to be some sort of study about how the submissive was really the one in charge because no matter how in control she was, Nigel was always calling the shots. Later she’d google it, like everything else. It was easy for them to fall into these respective roles, but they didn’t talk about it, they didn’t seem to need to. Nigel trusted her enough not to hurt him to much, and she trusted him to know his own limits.

As her fingers tighten around his neck, gradually closing in, and pressing down. Kissing him harder with each increase of pressure. Her lips hovering just above his, and sharing air with him, his hot breath on her face. There was something incredibly intimate about all of this, the tub, the hot water, and them plastered together. Him staring back at her willing her to push his boundaries, and her pushing back against that thin barrier between them. It was a very fine line, that wall, and every time one of them pushed against it, it crumbled, and cracked. Their own respective elements battering the partition between them, like a hammer and anvil forging something new. The water they sat in acting as the coolant to the red hot metal of the ever eroding wall. Another link in the chain forged, that bound them together, and wound around them unyielding.

Breath coming out hitched and stuttered she shook involuntarily. She had no plans to tame her demons, and wanted to keep them on a leash, always sure of where they were. Nigel only made it easier to do just that. Holding on to his neck and baring down on him, she hissed out against his lips. “I want to see you touch yourself.” It wasn’t really was request, it was more of a demand, before she let her mouth sink against his once more. The way they were positioned gave her a perfect view down the length of his body, that had her quivering with excitement and need. She wanted to see him do as she told, and just the thought of him pleasuring himself had her instantly wet. If she hadn’t been busy slowly choking him, she’d be practically clawing at his body, in a frantic need to touch his erection. At least if she was doing as he wanted, he could do as she needed… tit for tat.  Hips swaying in a tiny motion, that had her almost humping his waist against her will. Every so often she would seal their lips together again needing to feel him against her, and reassuring that this isn’t a dream. 


	86. Chapter 86

His core already running hot innately along with amplified temperature of the steaming water, which adds another sensation as where he ends and she ends blur altogether. Like the rising dance of the steam, there is absolutely no boundaries, of the blissful arousal and the heavy musk he could scent through the water, an amalgamation of last night’s activity the main ingredient. The ectoplasm rising to form the bleary haziness, with each minute tilt and latching of lips send electric spark up the length of his spine. Sinking further into the water and one of his arms continuing to prop himself against the edge the only mean of preventing himself from submerging underneath the lathered foam. Without even looking right through her piercing and glimmering gray-blue, her orbs shine like the lighthouse in the pitch-black fogginess, the visibility reduced down to mere few feet under the calm, yet ominously rippling sea. The crescents multiplied and reflected across the surface as the guiding waves kiss along the side of the rowboat. Marking the most sensitive and vulnerable part of his skin had been one thing. This marked another significant leap in their relationship. An onset of relinquishing a part of control, placing his devoted and complete trust upon the hands of the other. 

In many eastern countries, bowing had signified exposing their most exposed and defenseless part to the other, letting the other know how much of respect and trust they placed upon the one that was greeted upon. Wide open and unguarded as ever, not only the nakedness exemplify that in multi-folds, the bed of coal ablaze as the squandered and burnt-out embers resurrect into frittering fireworks, the Phoenix’s wings stretching wide-open underneath the scalding urge of her hands. A new side of him shaped under her molding hands and becoming a construct. Neck stretched and taut as a tight coil, about to reach its most capacity as he locks in the same position. Growing more eager, voluptuous lips, swollen and tinged with redness, swirls to paint his unique stroke along her lower face, tongue thrust into her mouth, stealing the vital oxygen that continues to squeeze out of him. Behind the shuteye-like trance, the only thing he concentrates on is the whooshing sound of adrenaline creating sparks inside every nerve and the urgent hardness, moving in and about inside the rippling water.   

Springing himself back to meet the intensity-building, fervent consumption like a roly-poly, fingers briefly clasp around the porcelain white as his fingertips creak against the smooth surface. Gripping her hipbones in a vice-grip, intended as a signal if anything becomes too much for him. He never doubts the length that she will extend for him. He had tossed the leash, now the collar had been wound around his neck as his adam’s apple slowly bobs, pushing against the inside of her palm. Wanting to prolong the pleasure as much as possible, there would be not a minuscule hint of panic present in his form; it was if this particular session was specifically arranged for him. The sure way to get his mind right on track. Past had haunted him enough and as hypocritical it had been, the cabin had been both his solemn sanctum, as well as the grim reminder of his unfortunate childhood years. His direct invitation more than insinuated indication that he had placed more confidence of charge and entrust, perhaps more than he cares to admit through the spoken words.  

It’s truly amazing how in a short duration of a week, nothing had turned into everything. Abandonment required expectation and when nothing came to his way, then a composition flew inside his dank flat like the last clutch of vitality. The lifeboat which had offered for him prodigious gift. Of course, there’s a faint string of him calling the shots, being assertive and dominant as he’d always been. He could easily entrap her between the walls and his stimulated body and a slight coolness offered by his swollen crown taking a peek over the surface of the water sends a pleasant eruption of quivering sensation up his arched spine. Scars had a tendency to remind him that the past had been achingly real. He still had the proof, wearing the foreign layer, the pinkish sensitiveness, the sensitive soft side within all coppery hardened shell. The representation of misconstrued self, his persona presented as a outer cast.

As a great whoosh of blood, desperately trying to supply the draining lung of oxygen, as his chest slowly contracts, the palpitation intensifies inside the cage, threatening to push through the tightened cage and resonating through his head. Locked in a rapturous petrifaction, a succession of grunts and groans muffled by the firm lock, he doesn’t offer any resistance nor dispute. Even when he had been locked in the nefarious reverie inside his subconscious, his bodily urges needed immediate attention. As they form a new alliance over exchanged breathes, shared arousal and pleasurable bliss, his eyes slowly flutter close, lips slacken. Fingers slowly fondle the balls, hardened as he stretches the velvety sleeve over the engorged head, already leaking with a bit of fluid. He could literally feel every vein stand up against his skin, and an immediate jerk of his hips follow, intermittently rocking along with his stroke, growing frantic as the throbbing ache pools to swirl into a devastating whirlpool. As the balance crumbles, head pushed upward to intensify the pounding of his heart, as heels of his feet press firm against the tub, wanting to lunge his body to form a shape of a composite bow. Sharply arched and rasping a series of groans, the cords in his neck stand out, as well as the scrunching of his forehead. Strokes of his fingers becoming zealously frenetic, hips squeeze tight, the paroxysm locking himself in an invisible frame. Signaling his imminent release, his fingers clasp in a death grip, leaving crescent marks all over her right side, beseeching her to tighten the hold further as he sees blinding blurriness.  

____

Parting their kiss, she rests her cheek against his, mouth only half closed a little as the sides of both their heads come together. Getting to watch Nigel touch himself is one of the single most erotic things she had ever been privy to see. Not only that, but was fueled extra by his silent ask for her to wrap her hands around his throat. More than happy to do as he requested that dark lurking side of her soul that lay dormant jumped at the chance. Biding its time, it had waited, and now it would get all the time in the limelight. Never once did she let go of the hold she had around his neck. The force she applied was steady and firm. At first she had been surprised that he was willing to let her do this, it was a show of great trust, and that meant a lot to her. Time seemed to slow while she monitored his breathing, his heart rate, analyzing the whole scenario. Using only her hands to choke him it would be easy to let go instantly if he wanted her to stop.

Gazing downward she watched him work himself with his hand. The other hand he has still gripping her hip like locking jaws. It was leaving white imprints where his fingertips squeezed. That dark dominant side of her reveled in the intoxicating enjoyment of it all. Feeling like a predator getting ready to roll its prey under the water. It was something that made her feel confidant and powerful, that was how Nigel always made her feel. If she was to be the balance he needed in his life, it only made sense that he did the same to hers. It just now dawned on her that, she doesn’t feel like her old self, the one always second guessing. It was all due to being around him. It felt like gaining a super power, borrowing traits from him, she wondered what he got from her in return. They were like a conduit line sharing electric currents back and forth.

Holding on to him by the throat was one thing, but when he started rocking his body into each thrust, she could feel her eyes start to glaze over. Each stroke was agonizingly slow, and tempting. Like dangling a toy in front of a cat, and the more frantic and quick his movements got the more turned on she became. Her heart was hammering her ears, and she had to bite her lip to keep from making a frustrated petulant sound. So badly did she want to be the one pawing at him, touching him, fondling him… Everything… to run her hands over that silky smooth skin. It was the most distracting and mesmerizing thing she ever saw. Letting out a huff of longing, panting with want, she tightens her grip about his throat once more. Fingers adjusting and feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple under her hand.  Brushing her nose up against the shell of his ear, she grazed his cartilage with her tongue, and making encouraging sounds, urging him on.

At the harder press of fingers into her hip, she can feel his nails digging into her flesh. That must have been a sign he wanted more because, when she tighten her hold once again, and he seemed to really like it. Lifting her lower legs up, she placed them on his upper thighs to help hold him down. All of this was so hot that her whole body was flushed with stimulation and excitement. She imagined that if their roles were reversed it would be just as sexy, or even if they were at opposite sides of the bath getting themselves off, and watching the other. There were so many things she wanted to do to and try with Nigel, she was like a kid in a candy store and didn’t know what to grab first. Oh she had an idea of what she could be grabbing…but it would have to wait. Every time he groans or grunts deep in his throat, it sends another wave of pleasure at her, things low on her body tightening with need and sending a shiver down her spine.

With his pulse beating against her hand like butterfly wings, fluttering and frantic, she rubs the side of her head against the top of his. Splashed water and sweat damping his straight hair, the longer strands wet and clinging to the side of her neck. Eyes locked on to where the head of his erection disappears into foreskin only to reemerge, over and over again.  She can’t tear her stare away, and keeps imagining what it felt like on the tip of her tongue again. There is a sudden urge to have him in her mouth, and frankly at this point she wouldn’t care how she was touching him. Or even where, as long as she had his rock hard shaft pressing into some orifice, she wasn’t picky. Her thighs were pressed up against the sides of the tub, held in place by his own body while he bucked and thrashed about, growing rigid with each second, zeroing in on his release.With mouth agape and taking slow even breathes to keep herself calm, she can’t help urging him on farther by purring in his ear, and hands aching from the tight vice like grip around his neck. 


	87. Chapter 87

Simultaneously, the constriction around his neck begins to make everything to reduce in a haze, like a color field painting, where no boundary exists between anything corporeal. While his heartbeat continues to increase rapidly to send his arteries to frantically pump blood to the brain and down his lower abdomen. A violent flutter amplifies through his spine, a jolt of electric shock making his body to both quiver and spasm, sealing him in an invisible, floating mold. The sensation is indispensable and is finally be able to eat up all his attention as he immerses in the contraction, the body’s disparaging mechanism to fuel his delirium. Blazing white paints across his face, cords visibly standing out from the side of his forehead and neck. As much as he wants to prolong the exquisitely fervid high, the feral movement of his firm fingers, varying in momentum and pace, continues to stir up the resplendent surge of both prurience and wickedly aching arousal.  

Fighting internally to achieve his release before his body slips from his firm hold, with most of his body still submerged under the hot steamy water, everything becomes more sensitive. The rocking motions continue and the temperature difference urges more so than usual as his rock-hard erection breaks the surface of the cooler air instantly fuels the clear viscous fluid to tinge through the swollen slit. Heels propping his knees up, he continues to to imitate the whirling movement of the vortex, wrist locked in place, his slender and calloused fingers expertly working through every veinous surface, throbbing with stirring thrum. The thundering strum continuing to increase along with a huffing breaths that accompanies, supplying what he could out from her unrelenting and firm hold against his carotid, the impassioned and intensely tantalizing act advances his need to force everything along. 

The percussion, thumping escalating against his eardrum to drown him with the severity of the noise, diaphanous hazel grows more dilated as they begin to roll back, seeing lush and compacted woods, his body sinking beneath the quagmire and looking through the heavy fog, laying on the swamp as the celestial bodies become hurtling, whirling mass of blended hues. The fluttering wings of butterflies, along with the chirping lullaby of little creatures and insects. The body of water materializing into the warm sheets that caress and hold him together. With each stretch of the foreskin emitting more damp secretion against his fingers, connecting the webs of fingers together to create another lewd instrument among the instrumental and atmospheric composition. Cacophonous caw, then mellowing down to a sonorous blend of his jumping heartbeat, threatening to let him slip into a comfortable unconsciousness, then the imminent release which keeps his body from completely shutting down. 

Eyes squeezed tight, he rasps out, that last sharp exhale of air that propels everything in the right place. A gravelly gasp signalling the white hot sensation tearing through his body in shreds. The world reducing into whole galaxies and sparkling stars, everything draws out into an agitated whorl as he plummets into the funnel-like contraception. With a tremulous cry, muffled by the diminishing vigor, the fuse sparks to burn more rapidly to detonate everything he has in the store inside. Raging and searing hotness manifests into explosive pearly splatters, painting her back and scorching impressions to mar the flesh, his defining milky way, the reason for his existence. On the expanse of her back, where he had firmly stated that she was indeed, his possession, along with his unique brand of seal. As much as every ounce of muscle gives into lassitude as the tight coil around his still spurting length gradually slows down, all the loneliness, darkness and hunger in his heart disintegrates along with his diminishing consciousness. 

Drenched with sweat and misty air surrounding him along with his aura, his ashen locks plaster all over the porcelain tub and the side of her head. Maddening heat rising off from his head as excessive afterglow cocoons all over his body, with the last dense torrent of arousal, metamorphoses into an onslaught of dimensional shift, the last desperate clench around the base where his spent erection gingerly lays over his crotch. The straining exertion letting his muscles slip from his body, the last awareness he scrawls into the book before slipping into the familiar pitch-blackness is the last vehement ripple of the water, threatening to brim over the bathtub as his arched and tense spine unwinding down, along with the death grip he had placed upon Gabi’s hipbone. With the last hint of sigh through his throat, he lets go of the last firm crutch. Lips ajar, face devoid of any distress and grievance. The gnawing sensation, last hint of self-loathing days of adolescence pulverized. Then,  _ an absolute silence _ .     

___ 

The tension along his body is coiled tight like a cobra about to strike its prey. Gone rigid with that visible sign that he is about to cum. With herself plastered so fixed against him, she can feel it growing and winding up within him. With each thrust and stroke growing more burning with the necessity to let loose. With him shaking with exertion and the build up that will send him over the edge, she holds him lovingly in her arms, the epitome of tough love. The second his eyes pinch shut, she knows that this was it. Waiting until she saw sticky hot fluid expelled in a few streaming ribbons upon his abdomen, before she lets go of her hold. Freeing him of the strangle between her two hands at last, her free to be able to touch him all over. Dipping her hands into the water coming back up dripping, she pets his neck soothingly, and wiping sweat away. Only to re-submerge her hands again so she can slick his hair back with water.

With hands placed just over his heart, she can feel it pounding in his rib cage. Lungs working overtime, and making his chest rise and fall faster and than normal. She is compelled to always take care of him, watching out for him, guarding his back, or even taking care of his needs. Rocking him in her arms, she places a kiss upon his damp brow. It is a little frightening that she is able to be nurturing and destructive in equal measure. In one hand healing and caring for Nigel and the other… Is squeezing life out of him to bring him release, a beautiful and terrible double edge sword. It is all too early to really know what she is truly capable of; there are merely little hints and fleeting after images of her other self. Much like an evil twin locked away, begging to be let out, and making promises to play nice with the others.

Always teasing, and being a smartass, she can’t help the remark slipping past her tongue. “Feel better now?” Letting out a soft chuckle, she shifts in place removing her legs from atop his thighs, to sink back down into the water that is now warm.  Laying her head back against the cold back rest of the tub, she sinks slightly farther into the water as much as she is able. This allows her to reach out her hand and caress his lower appendage, playfully brushing fingertips to his receding length. Even after he is spent, she needs to feel just a little, thumb grazing the tip where a remaining bit of fluid has pooled. Under the water it is not as thick and sticky, but still slick and slippery between her digits. Feeling a sly sort of evil grin curl up the corners of her mouth, she cups her hand just under his balls, and strokes him with a soft tender touch. She had wanted to do that for a while, and now that he was pliant and relaxed in her arms, it felt like the right moment.  

Not wanting to torture him any farther for now, she lets her hand fall away. Splashing a little water on his chest to wash away the lingering mess left behind. Feeling sadistic, she takes up the bar of soap again. Lathering her hands up, and putting it back, so that she can gently wash him between his legs, and across his abdomen, anywhere he was still dirty. The musky scent of his body was permeating the air, the only thing it lacked was the distinct smell of Nigel’s cigarettes and you had yourself a recipe for his own brand of cologne that she was growing so fond of. If it hadn’t been for the tub of water they sat in, she was sure she’d be dripping wet down below. The image of him touching himself would be burned into her retinas forever, and it was so very fantasy inducing. She had a feeling she’d be dreaming and day dreaming about it for ages after this.

Her mind wandered, toying with his chest hair, having rinsed him off of soap. He was now mostly clean for not getting a shower. She still had to scrub off herself, but she was too content to lay there with him resting up against her for now. Eyes closed, she listens to the sound of the water sloshing up against the sides of the basin. Every tiny movement they make sends a new ripple through out the surface. What it would be like to lay here like this forever, just the two of them. Doing as they pleased with no one to tell them otherwise, and of course having lots of sex. Because lets face it, now that she had it, she wanted it all the time.  _ Was there even such a thing as too much sex? _ It was hard to image ever getting sick of it, and as long as Nigel was happy to play with her, she’d never turn him down, unless something was seriously wrong. It put a whole new meaning on the term, ‘oh how I love thee let me count the ways.’ More like let me show you how many ways we can do it the deed.


	88. Chapter 88

Covered in veiled ripple of hot aura radiating from his heated flesh, covered with dense exertion of his own arousal that still swirls all around him. The last spurt having boiled over the erupting volcano as his petrified body rapidly cools, swirling all around him and coating his fingers. Laying compliant, he welcomes the barraging surge of oxygen as he voraciously gulps to take raspy intake of air, limber limbs coming to life once again as the fierce assault of pressurization finally leaves from bruising his neck. His frantic pulse transported to grow more into a steady flapping of wings, he continues to float over the elated jubilant cloud of paradise. Now cooling water transformed into a caressing touch along his still petrified body, the tight coil inside his core finally let loose, enough to register that the constricting hands had been removed. Behind the heavy curtains of straight drenched locks, lashes strain to open with the weight of liquid adhering them to the flap of his skin, the phantasmal reverie and obscured reality finally focusing onto fixate upon her face. 

Underneath his fingertips, as if she had resuscitated him just in time from slipping into another point of no return into an oblivion, his powerfully hammering heart pushes firm against the contact, yearning for more caress. Murky panic purified into bright euphoria. Lips gaped open like that of a fish, he lets the water pour and graze over his scalded visage. With a deep inhale, he confirms the heavy and sleek scent of musk accentuated among with the lingering mist, along with the faint sweetness of adrenaline coursing through his blood, the effect more immediate than morphine. A cloying fragrance of cherry blossom rushing over like a crisp zephyr of early spring, he arches and stretches his neck like a cat, after taking a languidly long nap. Rolling back his shoulders and instinctively, finding the pillar of her center, he runs his warm fingertips along the valley of her hips and spine. Feeling like being inside the cradle, soothing hands gently plucking him out of macabre dance of death he both wittingly and unwittingly placed upon himself and finding the strength once again as the vigor recharges with each sway of his limbs. The impression over his forehead bringing him back to life. 

Finding the serenity once again as he leans against her shoulder, looking over the side of her face along with the shrouds of steam still lingering with the heat of things, his forehead presses against the sharp and lithe line of her neck, enveloped in her dampness and sensuality of female flesh. Surrounded with paradoxical thoughts; once, he is reduced to a puddle of grumpy and gloomy self, spending time in solitude and chilling darkness. Whereas, along with her, everything simplifies down to being content and letting his unadulterated self come out forth. Uncomplicated and rustic pleasures that had been nonexistent in his chaotic and unpredictable life. No more of convoluted mess of emotions and thoughts  tangled up to pin him down and suffocate him like hoarded goods. With all the sinkholes and gaps in the brain filled in with tragedies, swelled with them to drag him along with them. With the little tug to escape from it, his risky business had prevented him from completely liberating himself from leaving more of the scar tissues. However destructive Gabi got with him in order to have him take a crackdown at the concept, he wouldn’t helplessly watch himself submerge into that sinkhole.  _ Never again _ .             

Smiling and throwing his head back to meet her lips, he grins against her lips before murmuring out in his slightly raspy and coarse voice. “As better as fuck I could be,” knees pushed up and spread apart, hips shift upward to propel himself into the fondling touch. His own hand smoothing over the visible wide strip of her side, slithering upward to stroke from her upper thigh to where he could feel the ribcage curve around the back to meet the shoulder blade. A shaky chuckle rattling his chest as his head shakes, he mischievously slaps her thigh, grasping her hand as it reaches for his placid length, still fully sensitive with the webbing viscosity connecting their thumbs together. Letting the masculine fragrance of oak and redwood along with hint of musk mingle across his abdomen, the foamy suds accentuates his own heavy muskiness as he lets his body relax against hers. As long as his body didn’t prune up like dried raisin, he would be complacent to remain in this position for eternity. With a piece of mind, benumbed only to register his worn-out state from wanton prurience. 

Letting his mind reflect the warm water surrounding their pressed bodies, he stays put. Perhaps surrendering a bit of control like this would be more cathartic and purging than anything else he could get his hands on. The idea had never struck him whole nor stayed within him, at least not long enough for him to assert on the thought. With the right person such as her, it would come more naturally and effortlessly. Having that trail of thought complete in and of itself, he waits just until his spent body recovers enough to thoroughly wash himself over. With a tap along her shoulder and a tilt of his head, he instructs her to turn over, pressing the crook of her neck for her to do so. Vigorously lathering up and bringing the same bar of soap to wash his hair, before he completes foaming up the suds, a broad stroke paints the bubble over her lower face, giving her a likeness to Santa Claus. A childlike, guileless grin curves his lips as he blows the last bit of bubbles away from his hands, watching it land on the tip of her nose. Before she turns, he splashes her with a jet of water from the shower-head, then washes his hair off as a cascading water hinders his sight for a short duration. 

____

The ghost of their hands together when she groped his flaccid member haunts her still. The slap of his hand on her thigh, and the way he plays grabby hands at her. Stroking her and touching her all while adrift in an ocean of serenity. There is so much unsaid for the ways she loves his playful mischievous side. The key to his heart was simple, and worth unlocking. He had such a gleeful way about him when he was happy, and not being a grump. It was contiguous and intoxicating. Now lying relaxed and placated in the circle of her arms, she enjoys the languid lazy lion she has with her right in this moment. Whether he is in one of his moods, or being a playful kid at heart, she cherishes every moment she gets to spend with him. Being the one to get to see the man behind the curtain is eye opening, and gives her something to look forward to as he slowly reveals more of himself to her a little bit at a time. He seems to be leaving a tiny trail of bread crumbs for her to follow into the dark twisted and windy path that leads down into the forest of his mind.

Coming out of her reverie by the tap on her shoulder, and instruction to turn over. She does as she is told, untangling herself from his limbs. Watching him use the bar of soap on his hair, and creating a thin layer of foam. Blinking at him in minor shock, when he starts trailing bubbles across her face. Shaking her head she can’t help the peal of laughter forming in her throat. This was not something she imagined them doing, but at the same time, it’s exactly what they should be doing. They can do whatever the fuck they want, and not a soul is here to judge them and tell them they are wrong. Her face starts to hurt from smiling so much, she is so happy that she could burst at the seams. Crack apart and spill out all her emotions into a puddle at Nigel’s feet. Everything that she has ever wanted is right here with her now. Being able to share moments like this, and laugh. Doing stupid things and knowing the other loves you all the more for it, that is worth everything in the world. It was worth fighting for, if you stopped fighting for it, you’d stop breathing and cease to exist.

Averting her eyes, she looks away for a moment feeling coy. There is so much happening underneath the ethereal layer, and the underlying current between them. For the first time since they started their bond, on that fateful day at the café below his flat, she has to wonder. Does he feel the same way I do? They clearly share a deep connection, its evident and everything little thing that they do, but does this feeling run both ways. She couldn’t bring herself to ask, and she didn’t even know how to put that in words. There was no doubt in her mind that she really… really liked him, but could it truly be called love. Was there such a thing as love at first sight, and didn’t that have to flow both ways for that to be real. She can feel the embarrassing tinge of heat rising to her cheeks, when a bubble of soap hits her nose, knocking her mind off balance, and scattering her thoughts like chess pieces falling across the board.

Narrowing her eyes at Nigel, and making a face, she had no time to respond, before she receives a blast of water to the face. Sputtering and wiping water from her eyes, she gives him a light shove with her shoulder, and turns away. Glad he is blinded by water rinsing off, and to be facing away from him at last to hide the grin, and the blush across her cheeks. Picking up the discarded bar of soap, she starts to wash herself off. In a hurry as she can tell her hands are going to start getting prune-ish soon. There is no way to tell how long they have been in the bath, but it felt like a much needed vacation. Allowing them to both unwind, and just be together, and have intimate moments, and creating memories. New ones for them both, ones for Nigel to replace the old with, and for her to have fresh, and experience things for the first time.

Sliding the bar of soap across her skin, making a slippery layer until she feels soapy enough, and then put the bar back, so she can her run hands all over. Mainly focusing on the hot spots, under her arms, and between her legs. It took a lot for her to start to smell, and she could go a few days with no shower, before she really felt grimy. Though after last nights adventure, she was glad for the clean feel, and the warm water had soothed her aching bones. After she was done, and Nigel was finished with his hair, she nudged him. “Can you wash my back for me? I don’t want to irritate that mark.” She sat knees drawn up to her chest, and huddled in on herself, like she was hiding from the world. Feeling vulnerable and exposed to the elements, emotions raw, and uncertain of anything, but what she had right in front of her. Everything he does seems other worldly, and made up of the stuff of dreams. Just a tilt of his head or the way he looks at her at any given moment. It all has her heart beating faster, and that rushing whoosh as it pitter-patters within her chest.


	89. Chapter 89

His playful grin widening behind the broad palm that sweeps across his lathered up face, his chest ebbs and flows comfortably and effortlessly. Although the phantasm of her fingers are still present around every inch of his sensitive neck, he’s more than glad that they stood upon and passed what he considered the test of ultimate trust. It had been one of the traits he had crucially valued in a relationship and within such short amount of time, everything seemed to click right in its place for them. It didn’t come easy as he rarely placed an ultimatum; placing himself beneath anyone, then having his most vulnerable part squeezed as his wanton expression presented both arousal and somewhat of a weakness. The gentle throb around the tattoo briefly becomes even more present and perceptive under the strong jet of water pouring over the thick luscious locks, washing away the bits and pieces of darkness clinging onto him like shards. Susceptible and more than able to hurt him whenever they had a chance.  

Now here he stands, firm as a rock, the cornerstone of the building and strong column of a temple. Rewriting the chapters and existing with the radiance and well-deserved brightness. Matching the slanting illumination from the windows opposite them. His beaming curve of lips turning Cheshire, the sorrowful entrapment and cumbersome heart immediately lightens up as the maturity shaves off about twenty years, turning him into that active and restless boy of fifteen. The sense of belonging, both to the place and individual visualizes mentally within his percolation, what he had concocted as a perfect picture. That last piece of crucial element in a pastiche that would tie every other material together to make it a cohesive masterpiece. The trip to his cabin had lightened a revelation for him. He already had the place to do it, a sort of an awakening. With the right person by his side and such an occasion like this, a spontaneous excursion that would serve as much more than monotone, he would be genuinely content. 

_ Would his desperate attempts finally end here? _ Of fucking course, he didn’t want to admit himself as a failure now that he found love. All of his tumultuous twenties, he had sought and striven for that perfect puzzle piece, the right love illumination that would shine through his flaws and mend the corners of his mind. Gabi had just shone a ray via all-revealing flashlight to both the darkest corners and brightened the lightened rooms devoid with hint of effervescence and vigor of his usual activeness and energetic vibe. Bringing out all of his sides and accepting him as whole. This isn’t going to be some memories with a stranger who he isn’t going to see. The recollections of memories already elevated to being entirely something else,  those already begin to cling onto his mind, body and soul. Everything from his violent, cantankerous and restlessness and to his most deeply rooted sly fox, perhaps a purring cat side that no one would dare to explore. The series of obstacles transforming into a blind faith. No matter what he did, she’d be the one to accept it with open arms, not judging for what his gruff exterior offered out to be. Putting one foot in front of her, she’d take another step towards her with an opposite foot to distance closer, while others would take two steps back and sit in a mortified gaze, retinas blown double in size, fearing to meet his penetrating and fierce gaze. 

Trying to maintain impassive facade, but failing as he washes the thin layer of foam clinging against his chest fluff, he could still make her caressing motion over his chest and how her thighs had firmly held against his body, locked in immovable spasm, minus his erupting tremor that had been apparent through his coppery skin like reaching a bubbling point. Fingers raking through his squeaky clean hair, luscious like gossamer silk between the web of slender fingers, he steals a peek of the soap gliding across her skin. As he registers her turning around, knowing the beautiful silence, broken in shreds by wanton expressions from both of them, the exchange right there is incomparably marvelous. Nothing more unrestrained and raw than this. As she finishes painting broad foamy stripes in sections, he follows suit with a trail of cold water, varying the temperature to let her gasp in between sporadic changes of warmth and coldness. The thought alone had immediately taken him to his blessed childhood years, with ample chances to play around, but sadly stripped away abruptly as he was forced to be responsible and independent at such a young age.  

Already running warm, needing a mean to quench the brewing heat, he switches to cold water after teasing her with the splatter between her legs after her hands trace with the soap. Pushing the plastered locks away from his cheekbones, he obliges, raising an eyebrow and watching her take the position. Taking the soap once again between his hands, with the turned on shower head between his legs, almost a devious smirk curls his lips, enough to leave a dimple across his pronounced cheeks. “I’d more than fucking welcome to wash you more than your back. If you had asked beforehand, I would’ve more than pleased to have my hands all over you.” Crouching against her back and knelt behind her, he dives in for her fiery hair, his face growing cheeky as fingers scratch and rake through her shortcut. It feels like taking a bath with his husky during his tender age. Heavily lathering up the soap as he works the length of her back, he turns on the shower head once again, washing the foam away with his dominant hand, while his left one works to wash her face. “Should I make you blow your nose too while you’re at it?” He brashly remarks, tracing a thumb over her lips.  

___

Huddled down making herself as small as she can, holding onto her knees, and clutching them tight to her chest. She feels like she is trying to keep from breaking apart. All of her feelings and emotions lay bare in front of Nigel, when she hasn’t even said a word. Her soul is now like an open book just for him to be able to read, written in a language that only they share. With his penetrative eyes, he could probably jump to any page of her life and know her story instantly. Only he could read her like that, like Jason and Medea they were fated to tell out their tale to each other. Whatever the fates had in store for them, whether a long and happy life, or a blissfully tragic love story. There was no denying the legendary magnetism between them.

Shining like a diamond in the rough under his hands, she rests her head upon her knees turned to the side. Staring off into space at the white porcelain of the tub, lost in thought and mind entranced by the sound of his voice. He is so eager to have his hands all over her body, and she has to hide her face at the thought. Really he shouldn’t give her ideas. Head inclined back so that it’s easier for him to wash her hair, she stares at the ceiling with a grin spread across her face. It was a very strange feeling being pampered by Nigel. Normally she didn’t even spoil herself, she wasn’t girly and didn’t indulge in anything of the sort. With Nigel being so cheerful, and happy, there was no way she could say no to him.  There would be no lengths she would go to if necessary to keep him as happy as possible. If anyone deserved it he did, and just seeing him light up this way, was enough to make her energized.

He was using the shower head to rinse her off at the same time, and he was even was washing her face, and she had to giggle. If she didn’t know any better they were like two puppies playing together. If one would push the other, it would start a fun shoving match, and a roll in the grass would surely ensue. Always playing together, and the idea of play fighting, was very alluring to her. Ever since he tackled her to ground it woke something inside her that needed to be chased, and pinned down. She didn’t even need to see his face to know that he wore his Cheshire cat like grin. A sinister smirk lit upon her face at the offer to make her blow her nose, and is replying before she even has time to think about it. “I’ll pass on that, but I can think of other things I’d rather be blowing.” Had she really just said that out loud… There was really no stopping her trashy gutter mind any more, just instigated the train of thought, and whatever came tumbling out of her mouth… well… He could always shut her up by sticking something in her mouth instead. That she didn’t tell him, her face was beet red.

The trace of his thumb across her lips had her shivering with awareness. Like a snap of fingers she was back to being aroused all over again. Since she hadn’t touched herself before… now it was back with vengeance. There was now an aching throb between her legs that begged to be satisfied. The always hungry needy part of her brain clicked on, and it created a tension in the air so thick you could almost wave your hands in it and come away with residue. She was caught between a rock and a hard place… or something like that. A dilemma now presented its self, she could try her best to ignore the hungry bird of prey pecking at her brain, or she could throw herself at Nigel and start a cycle all over again. The other problem was they needed to get out of the tub or they would look like a pair of raisins. Biting her lip, she dug her own nails into the skin at her elbow forming crescents where her nails sink in, trying to keep a clear head.

No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the nagging voice in her head telling her that she wanted him; wouldn’t go away or leave her alone. It was so easy for her to lose herself when Nigel was busy rinsing soap from her body and being gentle if not a bit devilish. That all combined with the shear sexual attraction she now had for him, it took every ounce of willpower she had not to turn around and jump him. If she didn’t resist him even for a little bit, they would never make it out of the tub. The second that the water shut off again, she stood up a little too quickly. With water cascading off of her body in sheets, some splashing Nigel in the process, she saw spots from standing to swift. When her vision cleared, she turned around to face Nigel who was still crouched down where he had been behind her. Standing close enough to him that with just a little nudge she was able to bump into his cheek with her hip. Stepping out of the tub, she grabbed at a towel, crooking a finger and beckoning forward; she held the towel open for him. The look she gave him was more than playful; it was loaded with sexual desire and energy.


	90. Chapter 90

Always preferring to be eloquently precise and to the point with the method of communication, perhaps they were bound to share the exchanges of wordless alphabets, syllables effortlessly flowing with mingled breaths. Inhaling the part of her soul and exhaling the mischief that begins to brim over the surface now. The previous purging release having relaxed all of his exerted muscles of the night before, this part would be most likely his favorite chapter he had written in the crisp pages of their book. Like how his lips are curved up, fixated upon the beaming light that begins to contour around her slouched figure, along with his encompassing over it, his face would radiate when he flips back to the pages that he had been at his most unadulterated self. The dusted part of the soul transforming into glitter. The gossamer of dense cobwebs becoming the string of unique memories that he wouldn’t dare to sweep them away. None of the murky blackness had frightened him, but the ill-boding ambiance of the room, with heavy ominous bank of dark clouds surrounding the very air did indeed. They weren’t going to be forgotten, but materializing into the precious antique in his dreams. The overlapping memory turning into butterflies that he would bottle inside his heart to keep. 

Solely with her bodily gesture, he doesn’t have to formulate a single question nor a confirmation to register that she, like how he had to be independent and responsible all by himself at such a young age, had lost the maternal figure way too early. Judging by her age, she would’ve served as a mother figure. Both to her father and perhaps extending it to her friends, too, without having an awareness. As he had let her in, she had been returning him a favor. Quid pro quo, just one look inside of her and he could read it as clear as a day. The sensation is both overwhelming and outright astonishing. Of course, having exposed to myriads of faces from early on, he was remarkably good at perceiving the individuals’ traits and using his charms to his advantage. People only grazing past the outer layer of himself, all they saw had been how marred, scarred and tainted soul he had been. Almost like a fallen angel, with raw violence all ready to be fueled up like a flamethrower. To him, those scars were  _ etched collage _ , graced upon his sun-kissed skin like a copper plate exposed to too many elements and chemicals.  _ Every minute sensation tattooed to his heart.  _

Lost in castles in the air, he doesn’t have to loosen his grip with the reality to know that they’re looking at the same place. Like looking right into her eyes even when they weren’t. Realizing that every moment of their shared space and radiating heat is enough of its own to let their personal fragrance dance and swirl around them. As the healing had already begun, it’s easy to let his passion loose its shackles and carry him recklessly across the each chapter of their pages. Sensual, mischief playfulness and even their somber grievance. Withdrawing his thumb just in time before curving around and underneath her lower lip, a hand glides across the dimple of her back, fingers barely touching over the distinct cigarette burn mark. Letting out the dirtied and still warm water out as the swirling whirlpool the only sound that occupies the well-lit bathroom, he’s about to turn on the shower head once again, cupping inside his hand like he would a firearm. 

Feeling like he had the upper hand, his head sticks out both in curiosity and awe. Clearly entertained with her out of the blue remark, a not-so-subtle hint of her giving him a blowjob. Of course, it’d be fucking spectacular to have his essence paint over her equally milky alabaster skin, then tasting both of their amalgamation of scents with his lips, as if branding her face in a territorial manner. His characteristic smug smirk widens his toothy grin, his cheeks plumping as it beams brighter than the sun. Face lifted, crow’s feet deepening and the other hand pinching between his nose. A low, guttural chuckle immediately breaking the silence. “You fucking realize I just came.” It’s even more so powerful than a jab in his gut, having used to all the libertine ways of life, but never had he, expected to hear such a remark from Gabi’s lips. “If you so fucking desire, you are more than bloody welcome to suckle it and have your opalescent drip-drop as a personal concoction after dinner.” 

Although the idea of sticking his length inside her mouth surfaces through his perverse consciousness, his stomach never holds his opinion, as several growling sounds break the air, filled with wicked waltzing of aura. As much as he wasn’t against the idea of feeling the exquisite heat cupping around his erection and coat her with his heavy musk as he had done the night before, he had another agenda planned for the late afternoon. Showing her the dock where there would be the most picturesque and vivid spread of flamboyant sunset they had missed and fooling and goofing around like lost children, completely losing the grip with reality, letting themselves go with the flow of things.  _ Be with nature. There’s no defying it _ . Parted lips directed at her punishing trial, he could feel the sudden rush of gratification tinge his cheeks, perhaps both from restraining himself from breaking into an unstoppable bouts of laughter and added compulsion of contentment. Giving her side-eye as he brushes the drenched locks away from his forehead, his now-closed lips lopsidedly tilt as he joins her. Standing behind him as he envelops her with both his heat and the towel, his head soon disappears underneath the fabric, running his lips along her lips, hands clasped firm around her breasts.  

____

Standing outside the tub waiting for him with open arms, she felt stuck in that moment in a movie when two people ran towards each other with arms out in slow motion. Just waiting patiently for his warm embrace, she loved that he was always warm, even when he shouldn’t be. Like her own personal space heater just for her. Being cold was not her forte; she hated it, and being with Nigel who was always warm only made her want to keep him with her forever. When he climbed out the tub, water flooding off his body, she couldn’t help staring. At least she had made him laugh with her awkwardly blunt confession, and smoothed it over with his own eagerness for her to do just as she wished with his lower appendage. It had her inwardly giggling and rolling around on the floor, her mind doing a sort of victory dance.

Finally answering him with her own snarky reply, purring with a tilt of her head and a crook of her eyebrow. “I know very well you just fucking came.” She was being cheeky and tossing his own words back at him with a sassy bob of her head. “Maybe if you weren’t so god damn tempting we wouldn’t have this problem.” Speaking in a feigned exasperated tone, and letting out a dramatic sigh at the end, while he surged toward her outstretched hands. Just watching him, all wet and naked moving foreword was enough to make her heart leap in her throat. It was so enticing to see him laugh, and only wanted to hear it more, and to see him smile. She was not fooling anyone, and he knew what he did to her, he was such a sly fuck about it. If she didn’t know any better it was his new favorite game and past time. Doing a mock impression of Nigel in her own head. ‘Let’s see how much I can fuck with Gabi’s ovaries…’

In one fluid motion the towel is over his head, and he is kissing her, lips brushing together, and making her heart thrum faster. With his hands on her breasts it feels like their skin is vibrating with sexual tension and energy. It was amazing that they could go from zero to burning hot in a nano second. If this was how it was to be with Nigel, she could just imagine going out with him, or doing anything together would never be boring. Her brain was painting scenarios of them being naughty in places they shouldn’t be and pant-damping encounters of her being pressed up against walls, still fully clothed, and Nigel being all articulate with his body. Shagging in alleyways and the back of cars. All of it was perfect and glorious, she wanted it all, and she didn’t care how carried away they got. Since she met him, she wanted nothing more than to live life to the fullest and that meant every devious smirk, and playful romp that Nigel wanted would be answered with a resounding ‘YES’ from her.

Practically melting against him like ice cream left to long in the sun, she drooped in his grasp only being held up by his hands. Her now smutty mind was getting over active and had her so turned on, and shaking involuntarily from his touch. Finding her footing again, she slowly walks backwards, towel wrapped around him, and using it as a sort of leash to lead him into the master bedroom. They stayed in such close proximity that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and it made her shiver. Stopping only when the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed, she stood staring at him drinking in the sight of him in that moment. Damp, clean, shining with an almost blinding radiance and entirely dripping with sex. Pulling him towards her with the towel, they are pressed chest to chest, and she lays her head over his heart and just listens. Wanting to hear the way his heart surely raced too when they were so close together. A noised of both their stomachs growling at the same time, popped her bubble.

Looking down at their bodies touching, not a trace of a line visible between them, and looked back up at his face with and open mouthed laugh. “I would seem the jury has spoken your honor.” Coming down off of cloud nine, she realized just how fucking hungry she was. They hadn’t eaten in a while, but with him she didn’t care. Food was the last thing she wanted, but she wasn’t about to starve herself cause Nigel was walking sex on legs. “Perhaps it is wise to wait until we get some food in us, to start fooling around again.” Playfully she grabbed a hand full of his ass, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. If she didn’t pry herself away from him now, they would lose more daylight to passion that could wait till later. So stealing his towel with an evil quirk of eyebrow, she slipped away to go find her backpack where all her stuff was so she could get dressed.


	91. Chapter 91

Even with the quenching caress of the cold water subsiding the heat erupting and bubbling over from his core once again, the sheer energy drowns him in a misty haze. If he wasn’t so damn fucking starving, he could be placed in an endless mobius strip of going around the same pattern over and over again. Definite and succumbed to ferocious acceleration that would work his muscles and nerves to overload. Like going around circles in an inescapable labyrinthine of her body, eternal exploration of their carnality and sensuality. He could play with this game all day and night, whenever the opportunity presented. Even the most innocent and naive activity would be easily turned into an exploration of their sexuality. Exhilaration driving him forth, he wonders what kind of things they would implore in the prospect future. Vanilla or rough fucking, whatever that sparks between them, he would easily turn into a slave to the surging jolt that would awaken him no matter what. 

Like a cast iron skillet, he tended to have a high volumetric conductivity. Although his heart mostly stayed frozen when tossed outside the civilization, he could gauge that it always maintained warm like radiating candlelight. The stretch of time becomes relative - minutes turning into seconds, hours turning into bare quarters. Time seemed to defy its normality and it is excruciating to think that they only have about twenty-four hours before they need to make it back to Bucharest. His normal club life, where he had poured and vomited all of his energy into like a frenetic workaholic seemed secondary when he could be his most innate self. Combined with mischief and banter. Stripping away maturity as he goes. In feigned displease as he gets his own taste of medicine, he returns with his own raise of an eyebrow, both slightly amused and flabbergasted. “You don’t fucking expect me to recuperate from that intensity in a goddamn snap.” 

With her added addendum, his lips slack, curling into his comfortable and character-defining smirk, how uncomplicated and easy it is to have that plastered onto his face as if it had belonged there forever. Like annual growth rings to extract the growth patterns of the tree. If he had been reduced into elements, then it wouldn’t be able to give a presentation of him without having that expression as people would call a spade a spade. His intrinsic nature had been self-satisfied, highly egotistical being who fully relished his assets. “Well, fucking blame me all you want, it’s not like this ever will be your first grueling torture you’d face when you’re around me and vice versa,  _ tu superba dracu' _ ” As he deepens the kiss just for a bit enough to wet his feet inside the foamy water washing over his feet as the gentle ripples kiss his skin, his toned flesh arches into her slight curvature, leaning in to fit their bodies into the comfortable puzzle pieces once again. 

Tempted to pounce her like a leopard hiding behind the thicket, patiently awaiting its prey, he pads slowly and languidly, letting go of his tantalizing hand before feeling her nipple harden between the web of his fingers. How smooth it was for both of them to click with each other’s body. The gentle throb from his side radiates like an afternoon sun glimmering across the red lake, colors turning flamboyant as the fireworks going off in the sky. Hazel orbs flaring with embers, containing the crackling and biting sensation of last night, he could feel his heated flesh evaporate the water in a haste. Leaving a wet stripe of trail between the bath and the queen-sized bed. The wide overhead windows letting in unhindered beam of light, sculpting all around their naked stature like some kind of Greek statues. All smooth, idealized, immaculately perfect. It’s like having been put under a spell when she flings the towel to press their bodies, grabby hands searching for that deep valley. Like fitted bolts and nuts. In compulsion, impassioned whirl of heated air rises from every inch of his vein, directed towards his heart to furiously beat in maddening way. 

Breathing hot column of air against her earlobe, his toned abdomen contracts, butterflies fluttering inside as he floats himself in an elated reverie. “Well, there’s small grocery store not too far away from here, that fucking gas station, around where I got us lost.” With wily and roguish smile as he slaps her ass to return the favor, he briefly rubs a hand over the sensitive scar tissue, tender against his digits before catching up with her to scamper down the stairs to fetch his clothes. Nudging her side with a swing of his hips, he takes long strides to search for his underwear, slipping it on halfway before rummaging inside his duffel bag to fetch a too tight, short-sleeve black button down, along with a cigarette poised between his lips. “Where the fuck did I put that zippo lighter? I can’t find it, damnit.” He mutters with closed lips, pulling over the boxers along with one sleeve of his shirt.    

__

Downstairs she couched down in front of her backpack. A smile still playing across her face from the nudge Nigel gave her. Silently mourning her Ouija board shirt, she fishes out the matching bra and underwear she packed. Where ever the remains of the shirt got to, she would find it later and give it a proper send off. Burning it in the fire seemed fitting for a much loved shirt, it had served her well, and fell in the line of duty… Shimmying into her clothes, and the same pair of pants she wore last night. She was saving her extra pants for tomorrow, since she was now spending an additional day. Throwing on a black undershirt tank top that was a man’s small, and over top that a long sleeved bright orange button down shirt. It had bats all over the shirt in an odd pattern. Buttoning up her shirt, she saw Nigel with cigarette dangling from lips, half dressed and looking for his Zippo.

Digging the Zippo from the front pouch of her backpack, she walked over to where Nigel was. His towel was still draped over her head, where she had been drying it. “It was on the blanket last night before we came in side; I picked up most everything and brought it in with us.” Flicking the lighter open, she lit his cigarette for him, and then pressed it into his hand, and a kiss on the cheek. Rolling her sleeves to the elbow, much like a guy would, she continued to towel her hair dry after her sleeves were in place. Tossing the towel away onto the back of a chair, and slicking her mostly damp hair back, she winked at him. Turning to her backpack again she went to go apply her usual make-up. Holding a small compact mirror in one hand, she quickly started adding eyeliner to her eyelid. It was something she was used to doing every day in a hurry before school, and had gotten rather proficient at it. Finished with putting her war paint on, she went in search of her boots.

Last night she had tossed them some where away from the fireplace, and she found them scattered about all ahoo. Luckily she socks were still stuffed into her shoes, and she pulled them on. Afterward she crammed her feet in her black doc marten’s; they were her favorite pair of shoes and well worn in. Finally dressed and ready to go, she went to find her leather jacket tossed in with all the stuff she brought in from last night. Swinging it over her shoulder, she felt ready for anything, bring it on world, and go ahead h _ it me with your best shot. _ She was in such a good mood, and happy that Nigel was seemingly at peace with himself. Sauntering up to him, she gave him a sly look of things to come, and anticipation of their future rowdy playful romps. The future was indeed very bright, and it looked fan-fucking-tastic with Nigel here next to her.

“I figured we could grab something to eat, and then buy enough to last us the rest of the day and tomorrow, from the grocery store.” She was musing out loud mostly, and going over recipes in her head. Wondering what he might like to eat, and what his favorite foods were. There were still so many things that they didn’t know about each other yet. To her even the dumbest question was important, things like his favorite color, or how did he like his coffee. Sort of useless bits of information, but they had a way of coming together to make for a special flair unique to that person. Even if they were stupid questions, it would let her see deeper into Nigel’s psyche, and get to know him better. So far in body and mind they appeared to be fairly compatible, even if they what most people assume would be opposites attract. It wasn’t necessarily true 100%.  Despite some outwardly differences they shared a lot of the same core values that Gabi herself figured was the most important thing in a relationship.

Indeed if you threw together some sexual attraction, a little bit of desire, and a fuck ton of shared core values, you’d find yourself in a life long partnership. It was something that she hoped would take Nigel and her a long way, and she enjoyed finding out what all they had in common. It was a lot more than you would think at first glance. With both of them ready to go, they headed outside where the sun was shining dazzling only making this ideal day even better. The way the light sparkled off the water of the lake, made her stand and stare at it for a few moments, just soaking up the beauty. Whisking her jacket on, she stuck her hand in the hidden pocket to retrieve her sunglasses, and rest them on top of her head. Other hand stuck in the regular pocket and could feel the coin there from last night still. She would cherish it and keep it with her always. Not wanting to lose it and the coin would forever remind her of this place, and the first time she got drunk. Also of their new and blossoming relationship, and how it had taken such a sudden and deepened route over night. Standing beside the bike she gave Nigel a look. “Ready when you are El Capitan.”   O Captain my Captain… but O heart, heart, heart, o the bleeding drops of red.


	92. Chapter 92

A ring of moisture around his neck and expanse of his back, traveling southward down to ride along the deep valley of his spine making the deep burgundy shirt to cling onto his stature, he grunts against the filter of the cigarette, pursing his lips in the process. With the preening flap of his drenched locks, still dripping water onto the floor, he grunts when his slender fingers mess up fastening the buttons the first time he tries to button everything up from the bottom. No matter how many times he had done it, he always managed to fuck things up some way or the other. Frustration clutching his muscles to taut, he huffs audibly before forcefully trying to unbutton everything in haste, to have one of the buttons near the collar to fling across the table, spinning like a top on the glass in his disbelief. A dramatic roll of his shoulders follow, with a tight pinch of his his brows before just leaving few buttons open for now. He could literally hear the non-stretchable cotton constrict against his biceps, too tight and the hem just a little short to reveal a narrow strip of the waistband of his boxers. 

Giving her a skewed gaze with her almost eccentric (he wants to say fucked-up strange) outfit that consists of bright colors and patterns that make her look like safari meets bat-cave plus Halloween which was still a good week away, he cackles through thinned lips. Briefly snapping the towel away from her head and coiling around the side of his neck to swiftly wipe the gleaming moisture that begins to seep through the back of the collar to fling it back at her, he watches the flame slightly sway against the slip of breeze entering through the slanted open window from the night before. With a slow pivot of his hips, he leans into the peck and pushes a hand inside his back pocket, the contour of the zippo lighter with the bullet encased in accentuating his behind. With half-closed eyes, he watches a faint curving smoke break the fresh, slightly cooled air of the autumn afternoon. The weather hadn’t been up to par with how things were supposed to be and finally, the season-appropriate chilliness bathed the whole ambiance. The first long and much-needed drag supplying ample nicotine through his system, he breathes in what it became the permanent fixture to his personal cologne. The faint musky and woodsy scent of soap still clinging onto his skin like an invisible film. 

Batting his lashes at her in reciprocation, he exhales an O-shaped wispy cloud from his perched lips towards her direction, he wiggles into slightly stretched and soiled pair of leather-like jeans, plastered like the second layer of skin around his thighs, a bit more loose around his calves and ankles. With a long exhale and letting his cheeks hollow out to feel that tobacco burning much more rapidly as he power smokes through one, he lifts one of his legs perpendicularly to slip a new pair of socks onto his damp foot, only to wobble and lose his balance, bumping into the edge of the table just by the couch. Teeth pressing onto the filtered cigarette, a growl-like grunt slips out right before muttering a series of fucking shits in Romanian. It’s so hard to bottle everything in when he’s in the element and the most comfortable person who would absorb his characteristic and not giving a fuck about it, judging him from inside out. Since opening up is the risk he is willing to take, this is worth living than anything else he had done, wasting his life away from having failed to seek the substitute for transient love. As cryptic as it still sounds, it was easy to slip into his natural side, without any guards poised to be hurdled on. 

Flopping down to the sofa only to find her applying makeup, if he had been standing right beside her, he would’ve nudged her once again, trying to feign as if he wasn’t aware what she had been doing. Making a mental note to get her later and watch in an amusement, he finds his own boots, unlaced, clogged up with dried soil all over the heavy sole. Snapping the laces tight around his ankles, shoving the cuffs of his jeans inside, he tilts his head up, meeting her eyes through veiled damp locks. “There’s a fucking great cronut place down the road, we might have fucking passed it before we passed the bloody grocery store. Why not grab something there, then we can get whatever the fuck you plan to cook.” All he had done in a grocery store was to act like an assailant who had committed a hit-and-run; grabbing whatever frozen and processed food boxes, hoarding and checking them out. “Have you cooked  _ sarmale  _ before? You know, those fucking cabbage rolls with cornmeal. One of my fucking favorites.” With his belt coiled around along with his revolver tucked inside the left pocket, he drapes the leather jacket, after giving it a striking beat from the garment. 

Stepping into the blinding glimmer of the light slanting around the corner of the house to give a stark contrast of rustling foliage against the compacted woods where they had let themselves loose like wild animals who simply couldn’t be restrained, he squints his eyes to look up, the last trail of smoke caressing his whole frame thanks to the sighing wind. This is all familiar sensation, even when he had lived in the shadows of his mind. Perhaps why he had clutched onto the strings of memories, yellowed with both nostalgia and contradiction. He had done it, because he had let fear clutch his heart so tight, until that release inside the tub had been purging in some way - the sense of letting go both literal and even more so, psychological. He is not afraid of what pours from inside the cage nor have doubts that greater things indeed could happen twice. Just remembering he won’t be abandoned and having the cage spread open is enough to radiate his mood like the haloing and bedazzling luster. “Your top fucking dog prepared for the takeoff.” Flinging the stub towards the extinguished fire-pit, the ignition turns, the streamlined body of a bike shooting forth like a bullet train, effortlessly whizzing onto the secluded road ahead of them. Once the heavy metal situates firmly between his legs, he lets go of his hands from the grip, fingers cupped over Gabi’s, wound tight around his abdomen. 

____

Chewing on the inside of her cheek she ponders over the recipe for what he asked about _.  _ She had made it once before about a year ago for the first time. It turned out really good, but the only problem with that dish was it took three days for it to get just right.  Just before climbing onto the back of his bike she informs him of this quandary. “I’d love to make sarmale for you, but we don’t have the three days it takes to perfect.” Her face adopted a regretful look, as she swung her leg up and over the back, to settle down behind Nigel. It was ok she would just have to think of something else to make, and maybe soon she’d surprise Nigel with some homemade sarmale when he didn’t expect it. Settled in place with hands wrapped around his middle, she relished the purr of the engine as it comes to life. Her stomach growls inaudibly one more time reminding her of their first stop to get something to eat.

Like a bolt of lightning shot through the sky, they race on towards their destination. For a few seconds her heart races with adrenaline as he steadies the bike between his legs and using both hands to clutch her legs affectionately. The gesture is sweet, and risky, and awe-inspiring as fuck, and she lets all of her trust pour into Nigel. Shifting to make herself closer to him, she molds her body against his back, the helmet had been forgotten back at the cabin, and they but were like two free birds. Flying along at top speed, and her legs squeezed tighter around his waist. In a sudden moment of care free excitement and daring, she lets her two hands fall away, arms spread wide to the side like wings. Unstoppable and free, that was how she felt, with Nigel leading her into soaring bliss. The wind rustled her hair, whipping it back from her face, and flowed in and out of her jacket, she was glad for that protective layer. While it was warm in the sun hot even, it could be down right chilly in the shade.

With the autumn closing in colors bleeding together, painting a crisp and idealistic picture all along the route they take. For once in her life she was fulfilled, like her life had meaning and that she now had a sense of purpose. Being right here at Nigel’s side was just where she was supposed to be. That was the one true constant in her mind, a message playing over and over. Folding her faux wings back in when Nigel took up his grip on the handle bar once again, she leaned in until she could rest her chin on his shoulder. Watching the road stream past, like moving pictures, and fleeting memories, there one second and gone the next. The scenery flows by like an endless panorama. The landscape was changing slightly as they leave Bicaz Gorge behind to merge with the highway that brought them here.

Pulling into the shop Nigel had mentioned, his feet touched the down stabilizing the bike and kickstand holding it in place. Clambering off the back she expanded out her limbs, and glanced around. With a curious look she watched him unfurl like a great beast stretching like a sleepy lion when he got off the bike. “I’ll stay here with the bike if you want to go ahead and get what you like.” Everything he did was like magic and a giant mighty thing contained in his human form. Sitting on the edge of his seat, and legs reclined out in front of her, she planted herself, sunglasses over her eyes and staring up at him with a grin. They didn’t both need to go inside and she wanted to stay out in the sun for a little while. Relaxing like dogs do in a spot of sunlight, soaking up the rays of heat. It felt good on her skin, and turning her face up to the sun like a flower.

With the season being fall and the right time of year, she decided that she was going to make ‘Ciorba de fasole cu ciolan’ bean soup, and ‘Dovleac copt’ she hadn’t had either since last year, and she loved baked pumpkin, it was one of her favorite things to eat. While she waited for Nigel to return she started compiling a list of things that they would need from the store. Using her phone like a shopping list and jotting it down, what she would need so she didn’t forget. Adding pickles to the list, it wouldn’t be traditional Romanian bean soup if there weren’t any on the side. Just thinking about making this had her mouth watering and she couldn’t wait to get back to the cabin to get started. The baked pumpkin would be the perfect thing for them to snack on while the soup was busy boiling on the stove. Everything started taking shape in her mind, and she knew that Nigel would like this dish, she had learned to make it long time ago, and was all the more happy to have the chance to serve it to him. One thing she was proud of was her ability for cooking traditional Romanian foods, and while she wasn’t so familiar with things outside that box, she was always eager to try branching out. With Nigel experimenting on making new foods seemed like it would be fun, and he would be the most wonderful taste-testing guinea pig.


	93. Chapter 93

With the radiating sunlight overcasting and shattering into a million pieces of golden confetti, like the sparks of a firecracker along with the foliage at its solstice, the glittering pieces rain down from the sky onto his stature and the bike. The visualization must look like the most romantic and picturesque scene from the movie, where his heart dancing streams of light, becoming a wild fire. So wild, even burning his own heart with it. This is the exuberant sensation at its best, becoming the eye of the storm. The chaos stopped for an indefinite amount of time, allowing this everlasting moment of accumulation of sensations. The heavy metal tamed underneath him, he could feel its great engine trying to steer them away from it all. The reverberation immediately surges like a mountain of great wave as he stands tall and sturdy like an aspen tree in a golden woods. Heartbeat like a river running wild, the current consuming, overflowing and unleashing fountain of emotions he had never felt before. Solace, the perfect picture upon his scrapbook of memories. 

Letting go of all of the control, except his strong squeeze of thighs steering the chrome body reflecting the radiance, he relishes the press of her body against his, arms wound around him like if they belonged there forever. The road is forever stretched in a straight line, sucking them in a vortex as the roaring engine propels them forward. Offering no resistance to the wafting wind, chilled against his still damp hair which turns to whip against his bare face, his thoughts remain locked in the moment. Their spirits dancing as he relishes the last spur of the moment recklessness. As the heavy body begins to wobble and his muscles give out, he reluctantly clasps fingers around the handle, firm and sure as ever. The clinging droplets of moisture seeping into the warm, rosy sunlight, comfortable chill creeping over his spine as his leather jacket flaps like eagle’s surging flap of wings. 

Smoothing the way as the bike makes a smooth turn along the curve, Nigel’s leather-clad frame turns along with hers and with the bike as the fat tire of the back wheel presses firmly along with the asphalt, still warm from the scorching sun. Dismounting the bike with both a grace of a streamlined cheetah languidly stretching his back and with a surefire intent as intense hazel reflects the blinding wavy light, mesmerizing in their own. Stepping into a holes-in-the-wall and his tried-and-true standby, he picks up a dozen cronuts stuffed with Nutella and whipped cream that he loves. The owner of the store stands shocked, as he doesn’t sell this particularly concoction, known for calorie-packed and riddled with saturated fat which will surely give anyone a high-risk of getting a bypass surgery later on as even one gives them a fucking heart attack, Nigel had asked for twelve. He merely shrugs his shoulders and knowingly smirks. He had been different than those ordinary people and he had means to burn those off. 

Even before the store owner packs everything up, he is digging into one himself, literally slurping the thick filling like a kid with the suckers. “Fucking good stuff,” he remarks, giving it the thumbs up. With widened eyes, the owner chuckles and hands this enigmatic of a man, who looks he’s about to blow the fucking place off the map with his gun and ferocious radiance and also with a grin stretching from cheek to cheek, devouring as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Sauntering with his usual swagger as hips swing, half of one already disappeared into his mouth as the cream paints the tip of his nose and around his lips, the sweet sugary hazelnut rush immediately fixing his needs. With the box full of those sweet confection swung over his shoulder, he sticks out half-eaten one to Gabi, then licks off the powdered sugar from his fingers, along with a bit of Nutella smeared across the side of his lips. 

“I don’t fucking want the cream filling to melt in the sun.” He clasps his hand around hers, handing her another full one and hogs all the others, throwing the boxes into the trash can and hooking the bag’s handle around his wrist. Wishing he had arms of an octopus so he could be a ravenous horse, he bumps his shoulders and brushes his arm occasionally into her, walking into the grocery store right next to the little joint. His mouth completely full, with the flaky layers dropping in front of him as if he was leaving a trail like Hansel and Gretel had done, he purses his lips, licking them and brushing away all the crumbs and his painted lower face with the back of his hand. “Have you come up with the fucking recipe? At least we could get those pre-made stuff if  _ sarmale  _ takes too bloody damn long.” Mumbling almost incoherently as he passes the swooshing automatic door of the building, he ends up almost choking to death with inside of his mouth full and blown like a puffer-fish. After he pounds his chest a few times, making the munched clumps go down his windpipe, he looks down to empty bag, swallowing the last piece as it literally melts in his mouth.  

____

Soaking up rays of sun, she lifted her sunglasses when Nigel came sauntering back out of the little shop. She brightens to see him so quickly, excited to tell him what she planned to make for them. Handing her a half eaten donut-cronut thing filled with something and a whole one promptly freeing up the box. He was eating one and getting ready to toss a box in the trash. She chuckles at him clearly baffled, that he planned to eat an almost full dozen of those sweet tempting things on his own. “Thanks, did… you just?” She was at a loss for words, and laughing, never seen anyone with that kind of appetite before. Holding the whole donut and half eaten one in each hand, luckily she had stashed her phone in her pocket just minutes before he came back. Biting into the already half finished pastry, she gave it a try, it was very good, but she didn’t think she could eat that many. Her eyes twinkled with mirth when she saw he had a smear of the filling on his nose, and sugar on his face.

Wiping her now free hand, she motioned at her own nose grinning. “You got… something…” He was not in a position to be cleaning himself off, with his hands full, so she wiped the smudge on his nose off with the tip of her pointer finger. Licking her finger off she added. “…on your nose, …so I figured I would make some homemade bean soup with bacon, and baked pumpkin, how’s that sound?” Going directly to business of their meal plan, she was now on a mission while finishing her last donut. Digging her phone and bringing up the list. They had made their way to the little grocery store that was right next to the donut shop, bumping shoulders and sharing side-long glances. When Nigel starts hacking, cause he was eating too fast, she clapped him on the back, while still staring at the list on her phone, not one looking up. “It’s a good thing I’m here… you know in case you need me for mouth-to-mouth… or wait is that the Heimlich…” She teased him with a tiny shrug, giggling and looking up at him at last.

Taking a handkerchief out of her pocket, she handed it to him. So he could wipe any remaining sugary confection off his face. She made Nigel push the cart to give him something to do. He was such like a little kid that she didn’t want him to wander off or get distracted. Leading the way around the store, she started hunting down ingredients. “Do you like pickles? Were getting some…” There was no arguing that, pickles were a must-have, she’d eat them herself if necessary. Adding things to the cart as they made their way around the store, and grilling Nigel about different things that he might like or eat. “What is your favorite food, Nigel?” Everyone liked bacon, so she made sure they picked up a lot, some for the soup and enough for left over to snack on and eat tomorrow.  At one point she had her back turned for one second, getting the beans she would need for the soup. When she turned around Nigel was riding on the back of the cart down the aisle. Thank goodness no one else was around, no need to be knocking down old ladies over or some shit… “Nigel! Wait for me….” Hurrying after him, with an exasperated look on her face.

It was a good thing the list was small; she was worried about making sure they had enough room on the bike to carry it. She hadn’t really given it much thought as to what they could be eating the last day here. After catching up with her way-ward charge, she asked him. “What should we get for tomorrow, to eat?” Nigel was eye-fucking some premade  _ sarmale _ in the deli, that was probably why he had ditched her so quickly. She was definitely going to need to make him some homemade, she knew he’s probably wet his pants over it. Smiling at his child-like demeanor, she felt like a little kid again, doing whatever they pleased, and goofing around. Mostly Nigel was doing the goofing off and she was making sure there were no casualties.

There was an odd sense of camaraderie between them that she hadn’t felt with anyone else before. Like they had known each other forever, and she didn’t mind his quirkiness, because she had known him so long.  One thing was sure if they were video game characters, the crazy berserker that Nigel would be, only seemed fitting that she would be the combat medic. Hap-hazardly following her ward around the battlefield. Patching him up, and keeping him from getting in harms way too much. The idea made her smile, while she waited for him to order his  _ sarmale _ . They really did make the perfect team, balancing each other out, and working together. He would do the heavy lifting, always the main person in the thick of action. While she preferred to work from the shadows or the sidelines not wanting credit for herself. Forever the man behind the curtain, or as they say behind every great man, is a woman running the show in secret. She was fine with being his sidekick, someone needed to watch his back, and keep him out of trouble, who knows what he’d get up to on his own. It was amazing to think that he had made it this far, with out needing some kind of helping hand to stabilize out his chaotic tendencies.


	94. Chapter 94

Although the ruminated thought of him regurgitating the cronuts to savor the contrasting sweetness from the smooth and fresh cream along with the flaky crunchiness of the outside layer holding everything in, they do very little to satiate his bottomless pit, as he needs more substantial viand to fuel his energy. Swallowing the dry lump down with helping hand of Gabi’s clapping, he pinches his brows, heaving a long exhaling sigh before regaining his composure. “Fucking Heimlich maneuver, what I fucking need is a good punch on my bloody gut.” Graciously taking her handkerchief with an imperceptible nod, he carelessly wipes off the fine granules and quick-drying plaster of muddy brown patch off his face, giving it a quick swipe. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist his most favorite specialties along with any soups with lots of bacon or ham-hock in it, he decides to use the hanky as a bib. Threading the corner of the fabric through the buttonhole to secure it, he ties both the ends once he ties the other corner against the button, creating a flap in front of him to function both as a napkin and not to further ruin one of his favorite shirt that plastered onto his figure like a second skin.  

The view itself just might be the thing to make anyone tilt their head in confusion, it requires so much percolation to ponder, to blend every strange thing together in cohesion. How he synchronizes with the inner child as effortlessly he does with his work, taking zero shits and all business. His wide and powerful shoulders seem to be armored in steel instead of muscle with even minutest motions, lack of audience makes his idiosyncratic behavior to loom at large. Still feeling rather empty with his vessel, feeling like there had been an irreparable crevices that let all of the content of his stomach out somewhere or burning the nourishment elsewhere. As if he had been preparing for an apocalypse and readying for the last grand feast, his eyes immediately divert to the pre-made  _ sarmale  _ section of the store with a fully renewed purpose. As always, his philosophy had been go all or do nothing approach and although it had given him a bit of trouble, such as his expectant choking, it had worked towards his favor. 

Following her suit as he scans the aisle with half-attention, he blurts out the lists before hazel orbs let out sparks, dumping a substantial-sized bag of coals over the rack under the main compartment and few russet potatoes inside as they take the tumble along the already half-full cart. “ _ Cartofi copți, cozonac de casă _ and roasted eggplants and pumpkin wrapped with bacon works.” Baked potatoes and sweetbreads, as he grabs a few pre-packaged sweetbread along with salty creamy cheese and sour cream, he whizzes past her, already mesmerized and his mind infatuated with that succulent pork and crisp bits of bacon, a combination of sweet and salty the gate to his heart. where different booths let out different fragrant aromas to lure such individuals like him. Already familiar with the store’s setup, he immediately grabs a freshly packed platter, asking one for the sample. With a foot perched up the cross bar of the wheels as he eagerly awaits, if he had been a dog, he would’ve have wagged his tail frantically and salivated all over the floor, slipping on his drool. 

With a  _ sarmale  _ stuffed inside his mouth as if he would a cigar, he chomps on it and swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing in quick successions as he literally swallows a half a rod whole. With another cigarette summoned from his half-crushed pack, he feigns uninterested gaze at the recurrent beeping sound from the checkout counter, watching the brown bags being filled. “Shit, more fucking beers.” Gesturing to halt before the woman behind the counter rings up their total, the soles of his heavy boots slip as he sprints down the alcohol section, picking up a better quality lager than the ones Gabi bought in a haste the night before. It’s so easy to let himself loose in front of someone who accepts him as who he is, all the quirks and sensitivities, gloomy moods, uncontrollable violent bouts she sure hadn’t seen just yet - what he considers his ‘vulnerabilities,’ will be safe with presence of her, as he puts immense trust that she will never turn it into a weapon, splitting him open for all to see. 

Not even breaking a sweat, he wordlessly sweeps an arm around all the packed groceries, scooping them up effortlessly as his resonant and low voice breaks a brief silence. Taking a forceful and deep drag and stuffing himself with the last morsel of the pork stuffed cabbage roll, he feels a frisson licking over his spine. Wanting to give his bike an all-around check while Gabi makes their deserving feast, an almost fanciful, but more so foreseeable dream begins to take shape in his mind, like the fog over the rippling river, it seemed to blend everything together with the mellifluous rhythm of the sound of wind blowing through the trees and his own rubatosis combined. The picturesque scenery which is incomparable to any snapshots contained in touristy postcards and with the taste of charred bacon, generously sliced thick and containing the flavor of coals. Getting impatient by the passing second, he peeks through the closed plastic container, taking another cabbage roll out and takes a huge bite, munching and handing it to Gabi before his slender legs curve around the front seat, the key already in the ignition. “You’re fucking welcome.” Pushing a half-eaten sarmale into her mouth, around his mouth, there lurks the shadow of a smirk as the etched dimple deepens.     

____

 

Stuffing himself full of  _ sarmale _ , Nigel came back to the cart where she waited for him. A grin created a dimple at the corner of her mouth as she watched him eating. If she thought he might ruin his appetite eating all this, she doubted it now. Bottomless pit for a stomach, it was the only explanation she could think of. Doing one last check over the list, and viewing the things in their cart, she made sure they got everything they would need. There would be no coming back once they get to the cabin. They planned to enjoy the rest of their little holiday in peace. “OK, I think we are good, let’s get the fuck out of here.” With a jerk of her head she motioned to the check out near the front of the store. She followed close behind as he wheeled their cart in that direction. In a hurry to leave, she wanted to get back to the cabin and start cooking.

Over seeing the whole operation of ringing out their groceries, she was proud to be organized where it counts. Order was unnecessary but she did like number crunching, and making sure everything was bought on the list. With Nigel around she found she really enjoyed the perfect balance between chaos and order. Before she knew him her life was all neutral law and orders everything in its place and perfect. Now it was just the right shade of unpredictable that she had always coveted. Her whole life she had been living under her father’s rules doing what she was told. With the way things were now, she felt like she was finally coming into her own lifestyle. Nigel had been this whirlwind force that came rushing and crashing into her world, and turned everything upside down. It made her see everything in a different light. Now she viewed the world with Nigel-tinted glasses.

When he went sprinting away for more beer, the girl at the check out gave Gabi an odd look. Half glaring at the girl, she informed her. “He’ll be right back.” And as if she had summoned the devil himself, he came rushing back around the corner with his prize. She found herself insanely defensive of him, and feeling the need to get her hackles up if anyone so much as questioned the strangeness of Nigel. Back outside at last with everything settled in the saddlebags of the motorcycle. Getting ready to leave he hands her one half eaten  _ sarmale _ , pushing it in her mouth. Biting down on it, with no other recourse, hand automatically coming to take hold of the food so it doesn’t go every where. Munching on the cabbage roll and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. She took note of the way his head tilted into the kiss, and couldn’t help smile. “Thank you.”  It was said with meaning, which encompassed the whole of their trip. Grateful to be able to share this experience with him, in such a place.  

When they made it back to the cabin, she helped Nigel carry the bags inside. The first thing she did was gone around, and opened every curtain on every window in the main area, letting in great streaming rays of light. Shucking her leather coat off, and tossing it on the back of the couch, her sleeves were already rolled up. Her body clicked over into autopilot, this was a domain that she knew well. The first thing she did was pre-heat the oven; she would bake the pumpkin first, so they had something to eat while the soup simmered on the stove. She wandered around the little kitchenette and got familiar with it. Finding knives and utensils that she was going to need to prepare their dinner. Next she started unpacking everything from bags, so that she would have it within easy reach. Picking up the small pumpkin she carried it to the sink and washed it off, the took it to the cutting board. Wielding a big knife she menacingly cut it up into thick slices. Laying the slices on a baking sheet on a tray, she sprinkled them with cinnamon and brown sugar.

With the pumpkin in the oven, she got the beans ready, washing them and set them to boil. While that was doing its job, she precut up a big onion, one big carrot, a small parsnip, one small celery root, and a red pepper. Setting that all aside and covering it, she checked the beans she added the onion and the roots and set it to boil for about an hour. Checking the pumpkin in the oven she stuck a fork in one to test it. Satisfied with the consistency, she took it out and turned the oven off. It was getting kind of hot in the main area, and she found, buzzing around the kitchenette like a busy little bee had only added to the heat making her sweat. Ripping off her button down shirt, she set it aside out of the way, and fanned herself with her hand. Next she got the giant pack of uncut bacon, laying the slab on the cutting board. She cut nice even thick slices for the soup and added them in right away while it was still boiling. After that she started cutting thin fine pieces to fry up on the stove for crumbling on top of the soup when it was done.


	95. Chapter 95

The way towards the cabin feels like a rainbow stretched over the shore along the eroded bluff, almost making a concrete bridge over this world to the next. Folding his childish demeanor to be unfolded for the next time, there would be no playing around with the thunderous roar engulfing him underneath if he hadn’t been so dexterous and apt with the maneuver. As if the autumn sky had fallen over them and covering them in a terracotta-colored mist, the voice of the wind with his back, the foliage falls against their pressed bodies. The whisper of the gentle breeze along with his own escalating heartbeat so loud and raging inside him. As one of his favorite quotes he had picked up somewhere says, “violence does not always take visible form and not all wounds gush blood,’ the happiness within him at this moment fails to be eloquent and struggles even more to be manifested into words. Silence also is a form of conversation as his body language and facial expression does all the work for him. It was clearly evident that his mind would be alight with sparks of a firecracker. Not wanting to break the spell as he remains enchanted for as much as it lasts. 

Even when they’re not communicating with their bodies and words, the way they carry themselves complement each other so well. Never needing to get his trail of thought out as if she had already took a good part of his subconscious, plucking out trails of thoughts and unwinding across for her to see. As the trail of thought diminishes and becomes glittering pieces as the adrenaline from riding subsides gradually, he secures the bike with a decisive kick towards the kickstand and helps Gabi a hand. As he’s not the type to make a second unnecessary trip to carry all the things, having lived in a fifth floor of a walk-up had proven something and given him a trick or two. Never accepting no matter what, even though his muscles strain from lifting full bags with bottles of beer, legume and all the heavy stuff that would last them until the afternoon, he kicks the door open with a bang. Pretending it didn’t even break any sweat, he chucks the leather jacket off and thrusts his hand inside the pocket, lighting another cigarette before pivoting his hips, removing the handkerchief from the shirt and slipping it off as well. “I need to take a closer look at the fucking carburetor and replace the throttle and needle valve. Then replace the goddamn brake caliper. It’ll take a while. I’ll light the fire so I can get the potatoes going.” 

With the zippo lighter and the stacked firewood that would last at least for couple of more days at his disposal, everything would be smooth before they are able to have the impressive and fulfilling feast in no time. Grabbing the cooking aluminum foil along with potatoes, he grabs a bottle from the twelve-pack of suds along as well, popping it open to take a long quaff. Heaving a pleased sigh as the alcohol washes down the greasy sweetness from the cronuts earlier, he doesn’t waste a movement. Moving like a pre-programmed computer software, scurrying about gracefully as he searches for the dry, fluffy scraps of twigs he could break apart and use it as the fire starter. Dumping a nice amount of coal around the fire-pit, that shadow of a smirk he had widens into a radiant grin, matching the slanting light of the mid-afternoon. the wind by the cabin is much gentler, the dense woods acting as the cocooning blankets as the embers ablaze, the sparks of flame licking all over the pitch-black coals to create a ring of silvery wave of charred heat. The swirling smoke turning milky ectoplasm as the view beyond the red lake obfuscate before his stinging eyes, he hackles a bit as the wind clings around him as if he had been suctioning it whole.  

Once the nice fire gets going to radiate rippling orange and white wave around the cabin’s vicinity, he throws the foil-wrapped potatoes near the edges, not wanting the to burn as he awaits the crisp bacon bits to go along with it. “Did we get fucking sour cream?” In his usual orotund and piercing low voice, he shouts into the kitchen, grabbing the kit from the compartment to work on the assigned task before he forgets it entirely. With his slightly quickened breath and the gentle breeze sighing all over the negative spaces of the oak tree just overhead of him, he squints into the high afternoon sun, unforgiving stream of ray directly basking his broad coppery-toned back. Covered in motor oil and a film of sweat by the time he works into the float bowl, where the expelled fuel is pumped, he carefully inspects each element with eyes turn hawk-like, fully encompassing every nooks and crannies as it essentially serves the nuts and bolts of the state-of-the-art custom made Ducati. 

As soon as the sweet saltiness of the pumpkin and bacon finds the path through his nostrils, the mere scent of the bacon has him infatuated like a bee in front of the flower, yearning to harvest the pollen. With the last bolt attaching to the carburetor body refastened, he saunters over to the kitchenette in haste, boots rhythmically clinking against the hardwood floor. As soon as he hears the bacon sizzling on the fat, the illumination from the open window amplifies the splattering pork fat, the scent mingling along with the fork-tender, steamy pumpkin. “You fucking ought to wrap some of those with bacon. Every fucking thing tastes better with them. I’d seriously have bacon dipped with freshly churned ice cream if I had a fucking chance.” Immediately diving for the crisp slices lying on the layers of kitchen towels, he carelessly wipes a hand against his leather-like jeans, which doesn’t even leave a visible stain. Pressing his sweaty body against her back, his chin dips down to touch her shoulder as he bites down, taking a peek inside the oven and grabbing another bottle of beer from the fridge. Popping it open, he takes a guzzle and lifts her shirt, gliding the wide part of the vessel before handing it to her. 

___

Soon after the bacon is set to the pan, Nigel comes hastily back into the cabin. She had a feeling that the smell of the best food on earth would draw him inside. Wiping her hands on a towel, she turns to hand him a small container of sour cream. “I believe you asked for this, and it wouldn’t be good to eat a baked potato with out it.” A coy little smile playing across her lips and a glance at the frying bacon distracts her from getting too entranced by Nigel. Eagerly nodding when he mentions bacon on everything, she can’t help but agree. “Bacon makes everything taste better.” Nodding and giving him a side-long look, eyes narrowed, as he steals bacon from the finished pile. Turning back to the stove, tongs in hand, to flip the current batch of frying pork. She leans back into him when he pressed himself into her from behind.

Things start moving fairly quickly after that, the soup well under way, gets the rest of the ingredients added to it. They snack on baked pumpkin, and little bits of bacon, she had made a shit ton on a big flat pan. It was a good thing that she had made a lot, because between Nigel, the soup, and the baked potatoes, it was just enough. On top of that there was still a bit left over uncut for tomorrow for breakfast. The only thing they waited for now was the soup to finish simmering. “What be long now, a few minutes I gather, how are the potatoes doing?” She had left the job of cooking the baked potatoes to him, as she had a million things going on in the small kitchen. While idly lurking around the stove waiting for the bean soup to finish, and guarding the rest of the bacon; she found her default mode was to lean on, or touch Nigel in some way.  Being around him was soothing in a comforting sort of way. They had a way of being together with out speaking, and still having the best conversations.

Getting out two bowls, and the jar of pickles that she demanded they buy, she stated with much enthusiasm. “Let’s eat outside near the fire again, not many nice days left in the year; I’d like to enjoy it while I can. Would you grab the blanket?” Setting up a little tray full of food, with the bowls of soup, bacon on top, pickles on the side, the remaining baked pumpkin, and the bacon for the potatoes. Making sure the stove was off, and everything was all good before venturing outside. She even had a little dish for chives and shredded cheese, which would go on the potatoes. Carefully she balanced the tray with the food, and made her way outside. Setting the tray on the stump she had sat on the night before, it made a make shift little table. They could set the blanket down around it, and it was just the right height.

Getting an idea, she held her pointer finger up in the sure sign of wait one moment. Dashing off back to the cabin, she ran upstairs, and grabbed her camera. On her way back down the stairs she picked up her discarded over shirt. She was just wearing a black undershirt tank top, and she didn’t want to risk getting cold. Slipping on the button down, but leaving it open, she alternated the camera in her hands, as she pushed her arms through sleeves. Before going outside, she grabbed one more thing, a big bottle of  _ socată _ that she had gotten from the store. Joining Nigel back outside, with her new items in hand. Pleased at the way everything was turning out, it was like their own little romantic dinner. Even if they had already started eating the dessert first, there was still plenty of baked pumpkin left over. There would also be a lot of soup to spare for tomorrow; she figured they could eat it for lunch or something. Plopping down on the blanket, she let out a sigh, she could relax and they could enjoy their food.

Drinking right out of the bottle, she raised it in a little toast before she started digging in to the food. “ _ Noroc _ !, Would you like some?” She offered the cold glass bottle to Nigel; she hasn’t had any of the sweet elder flower soda since the first day they met. Her mind wandered to that fateful day that their paths crossed. It was so very unlikely that they would have met under normal circumstances. Nothing about them or their relationship was what one would call normal though. What would she be doing now if they hadn’t met, probably playing her cello, and cooking at home for her father. The thought made her feel a bit guilty, as she hasn’t thought of anyone else, but Nigel for the past two days. Or week if you wanted to get technical thought she didn’t feel that bad. She was pretty much an adult in her own right, and she was aloud to make her own choices. It shouldn’t matter how she chose to spend her time, and if she wanted to spend all her time with Nigel, then so be it.


	96. Chapter 96

Flinging the lid of the sour cream open to take a dip of his finger inside, he relishes the contrasting texture of the sour cream and the bacon, sprinkled with specks of granules of salt visible through the surface of his favorite snack if he ever made or had some. Wiping some of the smear of motor oil and nauseating smell of the fuel that had seeped through and lingering against his natural cologne, he drapes over the discarded shirt from before and heads out to tend to the potatoes, baking slowly with the residual heat, away from the core of the fire-pit. The day reduced much shorter as the entire sky dumps with blinding orange glow, the cloudless sky offers the peerless view of the jagged rock formation of the gorge and the ledges creating interesting perspectives. The rays thrusting through the negative spaces of the branches materialize the view akin to stainless glass, he could literally see the slanting rays crawl over the earth to create interesting conformation across the earth piled with fallen foliage. The reflection of the contrasting colors, from sap green to flamboyant crimsons and deep yellow paints over the rippling surface of the lake and permeates to create mysterious tertiary colors, non-imitable with human hands. Profound and fathomless as their magnetic relationship had carried them this far, as the core of the vortex forming. 

Everything falls in the proper place as the nature doesn’t need a guidance nor a willpower to wreck when the electromagnetic particles sets the mind and gets serious to get its work done. A thunderous wind consuming everything in its path and the screaming wound so loud that his own heartbeat gets lost in the voice. His heartbeat still raging, but dying away underneath the ear-splitting decibels, leaving him to heave in gasps like once he had been a wounded beast slipping away. As the world cannot predict the mother nature, he cannot put a stop to how fast the pace of the relationship is moving, nor he intends to ever futilely try. His greatest motivator is that he exists in this place and the world and he acts however he wants to do without any judgment from the outside world. Secluded and cocooned by macrocosm, where any echelon is forgotten, stripped away to be reduced to make a peaceful pact with the environment. Taking the necessary things, giving it back by appreciating its congenial surroundings. The little appreciation goes a long way as he settles close against the stump along with the blanket, leveling the ground before he lets it settle, using the wood as both the table and the securing device to make the blanket stay in its place. 

As he idly watches the fire biting into the firewood, he rolls and fumbles with the foil-wrapped potatoes with the tong as the steam rises between the cracks of the foil and he pokes few holes inside, wanting the continuous trail of steam to escape. He didn’t want to repeat the disastrous mistake he had with the microwave oven, contained steam and pressure means a very dirty and unusable appliance. Between all the amalgamated concoction of homey and nostalgic foods that reminisces him of the first camping trip that would become his last and the lack of those memories formulated during those tender age gravitating him towards the comfort foods such as these, he could already smell the rich broth reducing to form into a thick stew-like consistency. Just what he likes. The protein and fiber to fill up his still relatively empty stomach. As he didn’t consider the earlier devouring fit a proper meal. 

The bacon slices are crispy, but just pliable enough to be wrapped around the roasted pumpkin wedges in a loose loop. Trying to come to a conclusion and wrap what he started, he pays half-attention to the potatoes, not trying to burn them as that had been his most go-to side dish along with the thick and succulent bean and pork soup. The chrome-plates over the engine and carburetor, all the valves replaced and wiped with the dirtied rag, soiled with streaks of oil residue and his own sweat. Leaving the buttons open as the late afternoon breeze licks all over his exposed expanse of the skin, a chuckle slips out as he briefly watches her retreat back into the cabin, which would give him an ample amount of time to clean off himself and drag the bike over so that he could lean against it and watch the faintly sparkling stars, leaving phantasm of waves as if they didn’t want to be seen with the naked eye just yet. Giving a thorough wipe over the black and red accented chrome plate and smoothing a loving hand over it to bring it to a completion, he settles and completely relaxes against what he considers his second body. There are still traces of grease around the side of his face and the jawline, but with the enlarging fire shading the side of his sun-kissed skin, he watches her scamper outside once again with the items. Just in time for the baked potatoes.  

With all the accouterments to complement the base, as soon as he smells that familiar sweetness of the root vegetable, he picks them out and piles them up on the stump to cool. As much as he desperately wants to dig into them with renewed surge of appetite, the inclination to do so is strong. He had always preferred to pile up and go all the way with the toppings and devour anything like a horse. Even with foods deemed for an entire army, there would be days when he’d go without any substantial meal or even snacks in between and gorge himself with a gluttonous feast. “ _ Noroc _ , I was more thinking on emptying that fucking bottle of  _ tuica  _ from the night before, but considering how I am still not fucking out of the effects, I’d have to pass and resort to this.” Taking the bottle and taking a long sip, the drink immediately quenches the column of heat pushing upward from his abdomen. All the telltale signs of being hungover had dissipated, but he still could feel his body running a bit hotter than usual. Even with the chilled air, his skin was coated with a thin diaphanous layer of perspiration, plastering the fabric onto his chest plate. Passing back the bottle to her to produce a pocket knife from the back of his leather jacket, which drapes over the backseat of the bike, he begins to make slits into the potatoes, breaking off the bacon bits and sticking them in like glass shards. “Just how much fucking bacon bits are too much in your definition?” Lips curl, entertained as it turns more like a view of a face obliterated by explosion, losing its identity as a potato. 

_____

Smiling she watches as he takes a drink from the bottle, and comments on the  _ tuica.  _ She herself was still feeling fuzzy headed from being hung over. It was nothing so bad that she needed to take anything, but it did give her a sort of numb feeling. “Take it with you back home, and we can finish it there sometime.” Planning ahead to see him later in the week, she dug into her soup. It was hot enough that she had to blow on it, almost burning her tongue. Letting the bean and pork soup cool down, she picked up a pickle from the small dish. Then started nibbling on it, dipping it in the broth. Wiping her hand on her pants, she took the bottle back when he passed it to her. The sun was just starting to go down, changing the color of the sky, blooming radiant in shades of orange, red, pink, purple and blue. It wasn’t every day that she got to see the horizon take on those beautiful hues.

Picking up the camera, she took a quick photo of the picturesque skyline. Feeling sneaky she took a photo of Nigel while he was stabbing into the potatoes. He looked oddly at peace, with dirt from working on his bike smudged on his face. He looked ridiculously cute, and she wanted to hug him and plant kisses all over his face. Scratching her nose, she set the camera down, and let the photos develop. It still made her a little uncomfortable thinking about just how little control she had over her feelings for Nigel. If she wasn’t throwing herself at him in a horny mood, she was throwing herself at him to shower him in kisses. The funny thing was she wasn’t a cuddly sort of person, and often times she was very stand offish with others. Not with him though, she wanted to be cuddly and show him all the affection in the world. A sad thought came over her that had her thinking. With his family gone, she didn’t imagine that he got much TLC from other people. The thought that he might be lonely was really sad, and made her want to give him a great big hug.

Nigel was a very misunderstood person; he was really just a big kid at heart that had to grow up too soon. He sort of reminded her of a Lost Boy from Peter Pan. While they were heathens and troublemakers they meant well, and they just wanted someone to love them. They had all left home for different reasons, and in Wendy Darling they all found a bit of home. Maybe that was what she would be for him, his home, a person to call his own, someone who would give him all the love that he needed. If he needed his space, she would give that to him to. If she could she would give him the world if he asked for it. There was nothing more she would have liked than to set the little kid in him free. Sitting crossed legged opposite him now, she couldn’t help the glances she gave him, or giving him all the attention he wanted. Chuckling, she told him. “I don’t think there is such a thing as too much bacon, to be honest.”

Mixing her soup, she stirred the crumbly bacon bits in, and took a cautious bite or two. It wasn’t as hot anymore, and she could eat it now without burning her lips off. Everything tasted so good, and soon she was piling cheese and sour cream on top of her own baked potato. More bacon bits the merrier she thought and thoroughly enjoyed herself. Trying Nigel’s own little trick of wrapping a strip of bacon around a piece of baked pumpkin, she was mumbling with her mouth full. “Thisisreallygood.” Stopping herself from choking on her food, she finished chewing, and started to laugh. “That’s a good idea.” She added enthusiastically. Taking another drink of the unique elder flower soda, she sat back and looked up at the sky. Everything had turned out perfect. It was so easy to get along with Nigel; she didn’t have to dance around him, or pretend to be someone she wasn’t. He didn’t make her feel self-conscience of being a tomboy either; he didn’t seem to care and took her for how she was. That was one thing she was able to do for him in return also.

Pushing her plate away at last, she felt full, and couldn’t eat another bite. All the leftovers would make a great meal for breakfast. She figured she could make something with the baked potatoes and bacon in the morning. They could have left over soup for lunch. Everything was falling into place, and well they wouldn’t be here all day tomorrow, but she didn’t know what time they would leave to go home. Now that she had a bunch of food in her she was feeling extra clingy. Crawling across the blanket, she laid her head in his lap and stretched her legs out. There wasn’t anything short of an earthquake that would move her from that spot. “I feel like I’m in a food coma now.” That also happen be to the perfect place to look up at the sky as the sun continued to fade, if she was feeling up to it she would rake some leaves and have a little fun with Nigel. “Do you happen to have a key for the shed in the back?”


	97. Chapter 97

Continuing to jab at the potatoes with three slices of crumbled bacon piled on top, he licks over the grease-covered fingers and takes a deep inhale, as if he would do with his cigarette or scenting the trace of gunpowder from the muzzle of the revolver. The two favorite scents which linger onto his skin like a fixture, his second skin and cologne. It’s so effortless to slip into the peace of mind as the spread of cadmium orange seeps even through the slanting shadows perched against his back. The tones gradually intensifying, the overcast dark mountain in the distance comes to life as swooshing colors manifest into rolling waves, the sea foams permeating through to capture this particular snapshot of total fusion. This would be his place to gambol, like they had partaken and succumbed to jocose antics. His paragon of imagination coming true in a form of felicity, it seemed so far away,  _ unattainable _ , yet it had been so close in his grasp. With the right individual and right moments such as this. It could be considered a humble meal, full of comfort foods that take barely take much effort; yet, this realism is ineffable and infinite. He had forgotten about such mundane and simple pleasures of the life as an individual.  

Tongue pressed against the back of his upper row of teeth, he watches the steam rise from the potato, completely built with mounds of bacon bits, sour cream and cheese to pile on calories. Like if he cares what he puts in his body; he would burn them like if there had been no time. Knowing he always stocked up on the plum liquor as soon as they became widely available in selective towns, it was his second favorite choice of booze just next to whiskey. As it became only seasonally available just before Christmas rolled around, he would leave some to be aged further so that he could enjoy it with more kick of the flavor. Like a starved child burying his face parallel to the place, his entire face disappears behind the layer of the cooking aluminum foil as he takes a gigantic chomp down the still steaming potato, skin and all. The grainy sand almost makes him to choke and cough everything back out, but the mellowing sour cream abates the unpleasant sensation. “Immmmsure theeewouuuube moorrefuckin chanceforrrus.” Letting his own soup sit on the stump along with a huge chunk of thick sliced bacon put on top like a garnish, he pinches the succulent fat and pops it inside his mouth to top everything off. 

This whole ambiance and visual is yet again a single reminder of interminably flowing chained links of memories down the line. It’s so easy to recollect the memories of him watching his father work on the vehicles with utter fondness contained the fierce dark pupils offered much needed solace during his tender age, an attentive streak he enjoyed in silence. Taking mental notes and replaying and pausing to ingrain in his own mind to be repeated over by him. His calloused fingertips the result of many years of mishaps, littered with more scars and blisters as motor oil and coarse tools had roughened and etched its permanence along the veins and creases on his hands. In his floating world, he still recalls the time when he had lied on the little patch of moonlight against the earth and listening the sighing wind whistle against the lush clumps of greenery, along with tiny flowers sprouting from the winter-weary ground and buds scattered all over the twigs as his own whistle along with chirping birds create the serenity. Gabi’s melodious and mellifluous tunes had offered him sedentary outlet for him to slip into this palpable past and present; living like a true child, the distinctive nature of him had been always living in the tangible present and although he would spend gloomy days to rue the days that permanently changed his life, he would treasure those days also, as phoenix rises from the ashes of his remains, the flames of those days would no longer flicker under the steadily falling rain.  

Drinking in both the view and the soup as the both the mind and body quenches to soak the parched gardens and fields, filling the shallow rivers and dried up ponds, he wouldn’t ever remain lugubrious even when the plaintive emotion overwhelmed him. A sinkhole of depraved venality and his brazen disregard for innocence and what other people perceived him as fades along as wisps of smoke still rises from the blackened piles of burned firewood. Never been good at emotional stuff besides anger and occasions such as this where his unchallenged position of being notorious with both his demeanor and business antics crumbled down without reserve. Almost choking on the small lump of not properly chewed piece of potato, he gives himself a mini Heimlich maneuver to spat out a bit of a clump before delving into the bowl with undying appetite. No amount of needless words could describe the utter contentment, as garrulous rhythm of his jaw hinge moving, along with the natter of the flame continuing to gnaw as he mindlessly lets himself dive into the meandering stream of consciousness. 

Carelessly wiping his mouth and around it with the back of his hand, he lets out a strained burp, washing it down with a long quaff of the socata. “Mmhmm.” His mouth too full, beyond slipping in a word or two to reply back, it doesn’t take much to propitiate him over, yet he had been on the side of misconstrued conceptions. Tragedies enacted, time had intervened in a serendipitous measure to assuage and lend a bright tint across his face. Gauging just how much he had downed in such short amount of time, he lets out a short guffaw, giving a shake of his head in disbelief. “Aside from being in a fucking food coma, I wonder how I don’t gain like ten fucking pounds with this meal alone. This was wonderful.” Propping himself with both of his arms, he briefly leans backward and stretches his limbs like a male lion would after his satisfying meal of a gazelle. Pivoting his hips away from her only to grab the leather jacket just within his reach, he retrieves both the keys along with a cigarette from the crushed pack, almost empty now with a stick or two inside it. Thrusting a hand through the back pocket, he retrieves the zippo lighter to light the smoke and gently jangles the keys in front of Gabi’s face. “Make sure to lock it properly. I was thinking of going down at the dock, the view would be beyond fucking compare.”  A downward surge to meet her lips, like sucked into a black hole, as every breath he takes reflects the shimmering world, which will never fade away with the imminent twilight.

___

With a laugh she poked him in the side. “The rate you’re going, if I keep cooking for you like this, you’ll get fat.” She couldn’t resist teasing him. There was something about being with him now that made her feel at peace. As much as she didn’t want this instant to end, she knew that tomorrow would come regardless. The world didn’t stop spinning just because she wanted it to. The thought of all this coming to an end made her sad. They would never be freer than they are in this moment. If she could make time stop she would have done so in a heart beat. The jingle of keys in her face snaps her out of her gloomy mind fog. With a toothy smile, she swipes at them like a cat with a toy being dangled in her face. Craning her neck up a little she meets him half way for a kiss. There is still a lingering salty smoky taste of bacon on his lips, and it just adds to the allure. Reaching up a hand, she hooked it behind his left ear, drawing herself up more to deepen there kiss.

Each and every time they kissed it was like rekindling a fire that never went out. It would die down for a little bit and smolder, but the minute their lips touched. It was back to a roaring flame all over again. Torn in to many directions, she didn’t know what she wanted more. Either she could go find a rake and make a pile of leaves, or she could go with him to the docks. Either way the end goal was still her spending time with Nigel. With them kissing she wasn’t able to think of anything else, and she’d have to make up her mind when she wasn’t so distracted. There was a heavy smell of motor oil and grease still on his skin, and it was odd, but she liked it. It was one of those things you probably shouldn’t like but did anyways. Just like the smell of gasoline… There was just something so pleasing to the senses, about it. She was pretty sure no matter how smelly, sweaty or gross Nigel got, he’d still be the hottest fucking man on the planet.

Biting his lower lip, she slowly pulling on it as she settled back down, she let go reluctantly at last. She never got sick of kissing him, and found the more they did, the more she wanted to kiss him all the time. He was becoming worse then any drug habit she could ever have. Having made up her mind, she decided that she could always rake the leave up tomorrow. Right now she was feeling too lazy after stuffing her face. Now she didn’t want to remove herself from Nigel’s warm body. “I’m going to make a pile of leaves tomorrow.” She told him, musing out loud, and hoping that they had enough time to still play around outside the last day here. Burying her face in his shirt, she inhaled deeply, taking his the unique aroma of him. There were hints of the wood smoke, the cigarettes, and the new smells from working on his bike. Smell was the biggest factor in triggering memories, and these were the things she knew she would never forget.

Stuffing the keys in the pocket of her jeans so she wouldn’t lose them, she promised Nigel. “I’ll make sure to leave everything where I found it.” Sliding a hand a long his neck, she placed two fingers on the edge of his jaw line, and tilted his head to the side. Getting a closer look, she checked to see how the bite mark there was healing. If she remembered to do so she would look to see if he had any sea salt, or maybe pick some up for him. A solution of warm water and sea salt would sooth and heal up the minor wound rather quickly. It would also clean it out, with out being to harsh to prevent healing like hydrogen peroxide did. The only reason she knew that was because many of her friends from school had been getting their ears pierced and were using peroxide to clean the new piercings, but it prevented the new hole from healing. Also it was a well known fact that salt sea or ocean water had healing properties.

Shifting around she moved to sit up. “Shall we go down by the dock?” Standing up, she helped pull Nigel to his feet. When he was up also, she bent down to scoop up her camera. In the other hand she picked up the bottle of  _ socata _ , taking another swig and snaking an arm around Nigel’s hard waist. While they were down by the water she would like to take a few more photos since the sky was so pretty. Feeling a little warm, she slipped off the orange button down and slung it over one shoulder, as she made her way down to the dock arm in arm with him. She was dragging her feet and being languid like a sleepy fox, she just wanted to curl up in a big puppy pile… preferably with Nigel on the bottom. Running a hand through her hair it was extra puffy from using bar soap on it, and where she had laid her head in his lap. The cooling air as the sun slipped down over the horizon, felt nice against her bare shoulders, with out the button down all she had on was the black undershirt tank top, and a bra. Feeling whimsical she recited a few lines from her favorite poem by Edgar Allan Poe as it reminded her of how things felt right now. ” Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow, You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream.” 


	98. Chapter 98

The warmth from the slanting sunlight contouring through the opening of his shirt as the fabric ripples through the crisp breeze of the sunset, the kiss spawns coiled heat from his core, more so than any other kindling - and means to fuel the intense roll of emotion - could ever achieve. Matching the intensity of her fiery locks, his spine curls sensually to lower himself to press into the enticing kiss. The world itself enchanted, floating within their world as his hazel orbs retain that come-hither look, taking in the whirling sparkling embers within them. Wearing an amused and content grin as their bodies press within the gradient of penumbra from the big oak tree opposite them, he hears a flock of migratory birds graze through the crescent ripple of the lake’s surface. Or it could be within his mind. The seemingly serene and composed mind getting triggered by such a minute sensation, now becoming something entirely else as his heartbeat palpates.  _ Yes, you control it and feel it beat. Take care of it and water it like the most precious plant you can get your hands on.  _ All the things in the world need explanation, but this sensation would never fade away no matter how many times they happened. 

With an arm leveraging his angled form next to Gabi’s shoulder and other one supporting the back of her neck to swivel around his stature, pressing his front against her side and enveloping her, he reflects the flamboyant colors spreading over the sky and the haze-like darkness slowly shimmers out with a dissipating bright blur of the sky. With minute tilt of his neck as cords accentuate and stretch of his lower lip, the heartbeat becomes galloping hoof-beats, trailing the vast expanse of sky with millions of celestial bodies. Everything and anything seems to churn into amatory advances; unhinged and pathological like a contagious disease. Perhaps it could be interpreted that his obsession of working like a maniac and fantasies of riches, grandeur or authority of his establishment came with his own overblown ambition and sense of self-importance. A pure megalomania turned into his true home coming. Nothing amiss as the nostalgic longing replaces with pastiches of empathetic and amicable memories. The changing season brought uncomfortably penetrating coldness through his heart, as it had been the only stark reminder that his birthday would return in less than a month; he doesn’t remember celebrating it with anyone or even himself. 

A shrug of his shoulder as he rolls the shoulder blades as they part from the kiss, he reclines back against the blanket and takes a long drag from the cigarette, his gleaming hazel orbs turning mischievous. “Try to make me into a wobbling penguin, are you? You’re more than fucking welcome to try.” With a sly tilt of his lips to let out the smoke, he settles further into the comforting earth, the radiant heat from the afternoon still emitting from the pressed surface. Taking in the scent of the smoke along with the deepening fragrance of the dried foliage, strewn all over them like a loose bedding. Winding an arm around her shoulder with another propping his head up and letting the slowing ebb and flow of his heart drift away to the solace of cloud nine, he nuzzles into Gabi’s bright red locks. Allowing her to maneuver his head, he takes a long inhale through his shortened stub, discarding it shortly afterward by the crackling fire. Taking in their previous mingled aroma and lingering grease of the bacon and soup, he could even feel his own pulse reverberate through her pressed fingers, the throb of blood against the carotid. That distinctive scent that would cling to his clothes for a good long few days. He would probably tolerate the scent permeating the entire flat. “I trust you enough,” with a minute upward tilt of his head, he exhales long, letting his stuffed stomach contract. “I fucking survived the gash, I think I can tolerate this for the sake of it. It’s not like it was inexorable. I prefer the aleatory nature of things - whatever the fuck we manage to get our asses involved in.” 

Pulling himself up with the aid of her helping hand, he brushes a hand over the collar where sweat and motor oil create a band of moisture along his neck. “This is what I wanted to show you the night before, if I hadn’t fucking messed it up, but second chance would be the charm. Thrusting a hand inside the back pocket of Gabi’s jeans to tug her closer, firm fingers squeeze her ass as if he had been fondling her breasts over the peak. With the crackling leaves underneath the soles of his heavy boots, his usual long strides reduce half the speed and vigor. With the last resistance of the radiant sun accentuating the coppery tone of his skin, the crisp breeze nicks round his exposed chest and neck, gracing the inked tattoo. As his facial hair had a tendency to break through his skin really fast and always preferring to be clean shaven, the little stubble surfacing feels even rougher as his skin remains slightly oily. As a whip of wind veils his face with a cascade of bristly locks, he combs them backward and lets Gabi’s voice put a pin in this hypnagogic imagery that seems to turn into something even more tangible as no more moody temperament comes off from the successions of events.     

Stopping as if to absorb each and every word to become a sonorous tunes as he reminiscences the night when he had shed tears full of contentment and cathartic purge, he purses his lips, rolling his tongue against his lower lip. Recalling a few snippets of stanzas of the lyric of the song; the song itself is about a painful breakup and how the concept of love had been what it ‘used to be.’ His perception of the world and how he views his own life directly correlates with the life experiences he goes through personally and although they weren’t perfectly compatible with each other, he knows she’s the one and the only one who would collectively love all of his dimensions - his quirkiness, fanatic anger, glumness and silliness and all those combinations of them. Instead of ruining the moment with needless words as a confirmation, he begins his own recollection of his mood, collaged and etched across his sprouting heart. “  _ Run me straight into the ground. Drowning deep inside your water. Drowning deep inside your sound. Run me straight into the ground. Drowning deep inside your water. Drown in love and memories _ .”

___

Trying to picture Nigel as a wobbly penguin had been something of a rather hilarious mental image. If anything he’d turn out to be that grumpy ass penguin that is friends with Hello Kitty, named Badtz Maru. They idea that certain penguins mated for life wasn’t lost on her either. There was a thought in the back of her mind wondering if that was true also for Nigel. Shaking her head as they made their way down to the dock, she leaned into him. Stopping only when he did, to listen to the words that he now spoke. “That is very lovely, is that a poem too?” She wasn’t familiar with the lyrics if they were from a song. Turning abruptly she poised the camera in front of her eyesight to take another photo of the lake. The water was serene and calm; no wind stirred it or any current to move it so. They stood shoulder to shoulder near land where the dock began. Out of no where she got a strange thought, it was odd for someone his age to not be married. That way he looked too, it was a shock to the system that he didn’t have woman constantly trying to put a ring on it.

“Did you never want to get married before?” She asked the question with out thinking. She had a terrible habit of having word vomit, when she got to know a person better. Still facing away from Nigel, she continued taking photos for a distraction. Suddenly she realized why she had asked such a dumb question. It mainly had to do with the whole logic behind them getting together. It seemed entirely improbable, but here they were. “What I mean is, you don’t seem like the type to stay single for long and to be frank, and you look as if you have to beat everyone off you with a stick, yet you’re here with me, of all people.” It wasn’t low self-esteem, she knew she wasn’t hideous. In fact many people had shown interest in her over the years, only being Demi complicated things. It was the whole sheer weight of everything that happened to them in the past week or more. It was like something out of a twisted fairy tale. Stuff like this only happened in movies and books, or so she thought.

Finally turning towards him, she shook her head ever so slightly; it was like she could hardly believe that this was all real. Sure he had his ups and downs, but who didn’t. Everyone had their quirks, when you looked past the ones Nigel had and looked underneath it all, he was rather lovely. He wasn’t mean to her; he didn’t hit her, or make her feel bad. He didn’t abuse her or make her do anything she didn’t want to do. He never seemed to annoy her or piss her off, he didn’t get on her nerves… which was hard to believe cause most people got on her nerves. It was so effortless the chemistry between them. Nigel didn’t act like some cranky old stuffy man either, he acted more her age. He came with all the perks of being carefree and youthful, with out all the other crap that came along with younger guys. In a way, she supposed that her question was one where she asked, ‘why me?’, but regardless of the answer she was more than happy to be the one here with him.

Giving him a strange look, and not saying anything farther, she headed down towards the end of the dock ahead of him. She could hear him silently following her like a leopard stalking after its prey. It didn’t really matter if he answered her stupid questions after all; he was here with her, not someone else. Draping her shirt on the railing of the dock she shielded her eyes from the waning sun and looked up into the sky. The colors were even more brilliant near the water, it reflected off its self, painting the world with pastel hues. With a smirk to herself she thought that this would be the perfect place to go skinny dipping. There had never been a chance for her to ever try it, and it was probably a little too chilly out now for them. On top of the non-ideal weather, the color of the lake was a little shady, and you couldn’t see into it very much. It was the type of lake from horror movies that things came popping out to eat you.

Handing the camera to Nigel, she asked him. “Take a photo of me?” She wanted to take at least one really nice photo for Nigel to keep in his wallet or something. Posing briefly for him, she had her head turned to the side. After he was done she turned back to face the water. With the way things were going with Nigel and her, she thought that it would be nice if her father and him got to meet. If this was as serious as she suspected, she knew they would have to sooner or later. Chewing on her lip, she tried to imagine how they might get along. Her father was very protective of her, since she was his only child and daughter. He would probably be very stand offish at first… and probably hate the idea that she was dating someone sixteen years older. Turning around she almost ran smacking into Nigel as she didn’t realize how close he had been. Adopting a very serious look, she told him. “Nigel…” She was about to tell him that she’d like to meet her father some day. She never took anyone to meet her father before, and now she felt liked she had found someone worthy of that privilege. Even if they didn’t get along, it would still mean a lot to her. “I think that I…”She never got to finish her sentence…


	99. Chapter 99

Softly humming the tunes from the top of his tongue, he whistles the refrain of the song its lyrics he had just recited from. With a hand shoved inside the jean pocket and the other retrieving a cigarette out of two he has left, saving the last one for the ride back to Bucharest. “Not a poem, but a song I used to listen to over and over. The lyrics seemed to fit for the current moment.” With the smoke firmly poised between his pressed lips, he watches the flick of the flame match the exploded and spreading colors of the twilight, reds and oranges breaking through dense layers of blues and purples of the clouds, the blending colors of the night unifying the sky and the unperturbed lake in uniform colors. As the dry earth along with crackling fallen leaves change to a series of wooden boards along with the stretched and unrestrained view of the lake with the jagged rock formations by the side locking the whole spectacle in for them to enjoy, the floating sensation overwhelms him as placidity in his subconscious matches the surface of the lake. His longer stride echoes right through the calm air, the mere image of them standing shoulder to shoulder, as if they belonged there for an infinite amount of time. Even without his revolver present and always having to resort to retrieving it whether to solely threaten or to utilize in what he does best, none of those thoughts had been peeking over for two nights in a row. 

His innate stance taking over, he stands over her figure as if he had been both trying to protect her from the harm’s way and a black leopard stealthily closing in for a kill. Standing in the boundary within the slanted shadow, he watches the waning horizon with rather impassive facade. The first drag immediately sending nicotine to surge upward to his brain, he heaves something between a sigh and a long exhale that clouds up his vision to form like an ethereal recollection, something that looks more like it came from a reverie as he becomes lost in it. Gabi’s words pluck him out to face the reality as he watches the continuous trail of smoke rise as he takes another shorter inhale, watching the tobacco glow orange almost imperceptibly. “I have never thought about it,” he admits in remission, between the thought of how unreal everything had been so far. At least he didn’t simply hadn’t been dormant and stare at his wounds for an eternity. He wasn’t anything remotely close to doing that. Standing up and moving on to the next action, he had garnered himself a potential for a developing relationship that would last for years to come. 

“You should see me at the club, those stubborn motherfuckers take more than couple of sticks to have the beatdown they deserve.” Recalling a few instances where he had to fend off those lowly thugs that wanted to know the corporate secret or acting as a sort of an espionage, they had been picking the fight with a wrong person. “I’ve had my fucking shares of being a Casanova and partaking in only sexual activities. Of course, no fucking one would dare spurn my amatory advances nor I had been, they were very attractive and as the whole establishment goes, everyone maintains their ‘maintenance,’ so to speak,” a brief pause to exhale the smoke, his intense hazel slightly narrowing as his lips ajar a bit. He knew it wasn’t her diminishing confidence nor it has to do with feeling insecure. Perhaps she had been wondering about the same thing - these series of unlike events bringing them together quicker than magnetism. There were still myriads of things to explore between them and they will find more differences than similarities, but there had been some kind of inexplicable force at its stake. 

He doesn’t know what has gotten into him, but the words flow even more so naturally, as unfiltered thoughts break the hydraulic dam inside of his heart. As baffling as this whole thing had been, their exchanges of how they had been feeling at this very moment deserves more recognition than letting those words float in silence. Perhaps it isn’t the physical abuse that had haunted him all those years, but deep within as he scrutinizes his sprouted heart, the heart pain of losing family at such a young age had him to bear the most unbearable pain a one can go through. The idea for a mate for life thus fit him perfectly, although his walls had been closed in for a long time, as he felt like his whole life, he had been searching for his self. He had gone through so many changes within the short period of time and like domino effect, nothing could stop it when it had a predetermined course, but this could be what it could save himself from decaying from indecision. It’s better to be brazen about it than letting the incompleteness haunt him. 

“One of the penguin species, when a male penguin courts a female, he gifts her a pebble as a gift. We think it’s so fucking insignificant, we could encounter one so easily, but it’s very scarce to come across a perfect one as they ferociously fight over the little precious pebble. I’ve mentioned me being a penguin as a fucking joke, but I could relate in that they bond and mate for life, it’s actually quite emotive that they go through all kinds of shits to do something like that.” As to take in his own words to encompass his heart, the poignancy of the concept lingers, as he takes the camera from her silently. As she poses and takes the photo, he turns the lens towards him to take a selfie. Through the developed film, there’s still a hint of gloominess present in those soulful orbs, but he could definitely see the permeated passion contained within them as well. It his heart would crush into a thousand shattered pieces, he’d rather have that smitten with love than the absence of it. In attempt to break the awkward silence and looming weight of seriousness, he nudges Gabi’s side just by the end of the dock, watching her take a dive into the chilled serenity. Casually sitting by the edge of the water as he already knew the water hadn’t been deep enough to submerge her in whole, his feet dangles as the soles of heavy boots thud against each other. “Let’s take some more photos and get you warm.” 

___

“Oh, al naibii de zeu .” Like a cat she managed to land on her feet. Only the water was almost waist deep where she landed. The whole front of her tank top got soaked in the splash when she hit the lake surface. Frozen in place, she stood mouth-opened and in shock, staring at her own reflection. Whirling around, she faced the dock with a confused and perturbed look on her face. Each movement made her shoes sinking into the muddy lake bottom. The only thing that wasn’t wet was her shoulders, head and part of her back. “I-It’s r-really cold…” she exclaimed holding her arms up to her chest, water dripping to her elbows. She hadn’t anything to say; maybe she deserved it, for asking such a stupid question. Shivering, she made her way to the waters edge, and squelched onto the bank. Shaking off water, and dripping muck off her boots, she made her way back down to the end of the dock again.

“Well it is a good thing you had my camera.” Her tone was all deadpan, and matter of fact. Stomping her feet to get the mud off, she grabbed her button down shirt that lay on the railing still. Pulling it on, she unrolled the sleeves, and then sat down next to Nigel. Feeling snarky and spiteful, she told him. “To imagine I was just thinking how lovely you were… I may need to alter that a bit.” Giving him a mischievous smirk, she pulled her shirt around her more closely. Narrowing her eyes at him, she stole the remaining bit of cigarette from him. Plucking it from his mouth, and staring directly at him as she inhaled a drag. The look she gave him dared him to take it back, or say anything at all. Stubborn and defiant when she wanted to be, inclining her head back slightly to blow a small puff of smoke into the air. This time, she only coughed a little bit, and then she put the butt out by stubbing it against the dock.  _ Besides what was he going do… push her into the water? _

Taking the camera from him, she leaned in close and took a selfie of them together. Lowering her arm, she turned her head towards him, being so close together, her nose almost brushed his. She couldn’t help the way she looked at him, there was such adoration in her eyes. Even when he was being terrible, and an awful little shit she loved him. There was no doubt about it now. People don’t get pushed into lakes, and then stare at the person who done it afterwards with a look of affection, unless you loved them. It fact him being bad, just made her like him even more. How that was possible, she had no fucking clue. Chuckling softly, she bent forward just enough to press her forehead to his. Setting the camera down safely behind them, she placed one hand on his cheek. The other she used to pull him closer, fingers twining in his ashen locks. Just like that it was all it took for things to change between them.

One minute they were playful and silly, the next the world was on fire and the heat from their gaze could scorch the earth. Whispering against his lips, she murmured to him. “Ok Penguin boy, warm me up.” Wet pants and all she straddled his lap. Pressed up against him, knees on either side of his hips, while kissing him lightly just a gentle graze of skin. These were the moments she cherished, little snippets of stolen kisses, and new memories. In the dying light Nigel seemed to glow like a dark god. The golden rays of the sun making him appear even more tan. Curling her fingers tighter in his hair, she released him suddenly, only to take a firm grip of his collar. Both hands fisted the fabric, and pulling him up close, so she could kiss him harder. There was so much in the way they could get into trouble together that made her want to spend the rest of her life with him. If necessary she’d wait a long ass time for him to bring her a god damn pebble if that’s what it took.

One thing was certain she wasn’t shivering any longer. She didn’t care she he got wet either, he was the one who pushed her into the water. Tit for tat… it only seemed fair that he should share in the damp clothes clinging to her form. There was a very strong desire for her to have him take her to the second floor bedroom so they could roll around on the huge bed. The idea of just laying under the heavy covers cuddled up together and just talking was very appealing to her right now. At the same time, she wanted to play wicked games with him well into the morning hours. They called it pillow talk for a reason, and it seemed like it was something they could get used to doing. Nosing against his cheek, and sliding her hands down from his collar to the open v of his shirt. Fingers parted the fabric more to allow her to place kisses on his chest. Pausing for a brief second, “We should take this to the bedroom… in a little bit.” Lifting her head she raised a suggestive eyebrow at him.


End file.
